“I dreamt we still had the shop.”
The words are thick coming out of his mouth, and his eyes are shut tight. He is postponing the reality that’ll confront him when he wakes.
I’m standing in our bedroom doorway and hesitate a moment before going to him.
This is called self-preservation.
So far, I’m having a great morning. I’ve had my hair cut and styled. I’ve gone on a nice long walk with the dog and spent an hour drinking creamy coffee while wandering around the house, watering my plants while whispering sweet somethings to their chlorophyll-rich leaves.
Do I really want to get wrapped up in some complicated moment brought on by a dream?
This is what my head is thinking. Meanwhile, my heart is propelling my body towards my husband, who is curled into himself in bed. I climb atop his body. I transform myself into a security blanket. I kiss his ear and the top of his head. I smell his sleepy body and think about how creepy it was that I just did that.
But then I get a little love-drunk from his scent, and I do it again — creepiness be damned.