In Every Dream Home

When he came through the back door, the kitchen was quiet and empty. He thought maybe she wasn't home. But he found her, sitting at the dining room table, in silence. A cigarette burned in the ashtray next to her, sending grey curls of smoke up toward the ceiling. At first, she didn't even look at him. Then: "You're back."

"I'm back," he sighed.

"Did you forget something?"

"No. I'm coming home."

She stared into his eyes. "I don't know why. We've said all we have to say. You know how I feel. I know how you feel. Unless you've changed your mind about buying that new desk."

"I haven't. But-"

"But nothing. You know I think we can't afford a new desk. That hasn't changed. It won't change."

"I know."

She looked away. "So what are you doing here?"

"Now… now we can both have one."

"We've already discussed this. We don't have the money to buy you a new desk, let alone me a new desk."

"What if they're on sale?"

Her eyes locked on his. "If you're playing with me, I swear to God – if this is a joke…"

"It's not a joke. The Sharper Image Stockton Collection is not a joke. It's real. The dark wooden legs, the sharp lines, and yes, the sleek glass surface – all real."

"So… we can have it all?"

"Yes."

"Everything?"

"Yes. Yes. Yes."

She was up, going to him, finding the space between his arms.

"Let's never fight again," she sobbed. "Never let me go."

"I won't," he assured her. "I won't." As they entwined in the darkening dining room, their bodies fitting together in a familiar embrace, just one thought distracted him: Now I just have to make sure she never finds out I'm addicted to computer games.