I think about what he says, absorbing his statement, and realize that he’s correct. He’s no longer hitched to Cliff. He’s mine. I’m his. We’re boyfriends and lovers. And I can have all of him, and vice versa. The dirty plates and cocktail glasses can wait. All the debris can wait. The disaster in the kitchen can also wait. The post-party clean-up can be a chore for tomorrow. For now…we can celebrate our togetherness.
“Upstairs. Now. Us,” he demands of me, and drags me to the stairwell. “I’m not taking no for an answer. Think of it as a celebration.”
I don’t have a choice in the matter. Not that I really want one. I tell the computerized Alexa to turn out all the lights on the first floor, and let him lead me astray to the second floor to the spare bedroom. Just the two of us. Matched. At
