We have an ability to start a vacation immediately. No winding down, no gearing up. We hit the road and not one more thought of work piles or dish piles or endless tasks snuck in. Miles of desert and a big, fat skyline relaxed us. The girls read and played games. I read and daydreamed. By the time the girls were dropped off and as soon as we spotted the Luxor light beaming into space, our vacuum was sealed. This was us for two days.
We were gonna go to the spa, but lounging in the bed in the middle of the afternoon watching college hoops felt more luxurious.
During Sunday breakfast at the downstairs diner, we read the paper. I ate oatmeal. He ate an omelet. My hair was in a ponytail. Jeans, tshirt. Sneakers were back on my feet. He leaned over and said, "Mami, last night at the club did you really have your hand down my pants?" I flipped the paper down and stared at my coffee cup. I played back events. Then I put my forehead to the table and laughed. "Holy shit," I said. He put his section of the paper back up to his face and peeked around it one more time, nodding.
I had just gotten out of a long, hot shower that had no time constraints. A child had not yelled my name once. I put a towel on my hair, around my body too. Husband came in and handed me a box. A year ago, I had pined for a particular ring, which is uncharacteristic because I am not big on jewelry. Or at least not asking for jewelry. I had seen it in a magazine, but the handmade ring sold out quickly. None were on the horizon either. But he found it this year. It's a tiny band of rose gold. Etched in teeny script is reads, soulmate.
On the drive home, I showed the girls the ring. Mina blurted, "Look Maya, it says 'soul man'". This made us laugh for miles. But it doesn't take away my private pangs for my little ring. Or the fact that the tiny word states big truth.
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