“Have you decided if you’re going to change your name?” Ben asks me. He is sitting on the opposite end of the couch, rubbing my feet. He looks so cute. How did I end up with someone so goddamn cute?
“I have an idea,” I tease. But I have more than an idea. My face breaks into a smile.
“Really?” he asks.
He seems too sexy to be a husband. He’s young and he’s tall and he’s strong. He’s so perfect. I sound like an idiot. But this is how it’s supposed to be, right? As a newlywed, I’m supposed to see him through these rose-colored glasses. “I was thinking of going by Elsie Porter Ross,” I say to him.
He stops rubbing my feet for a minute. “That’s really hot,” he says.
I laugh at him. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” he says, starting to rub my feet again. “I just like the idea of both our names together.”
“I like it, too!” I say. “It’s kinda hot.”
“I told you!”
“That settles it. As soon as the marriage certificate gets here, I’m sending it to the DMV or wherever you have to send it.”
“Awesome,” he says, taking his hands off of me. “Okay, Elsie Porter Ross. My turn.”
I grab his feet. It’s quiet for a while as I absentmindedly rub his toes through his socks. My mind wanders, and after some time, it lands on a startling realization: I am hungry.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
“Now?”
“I really want to get Fruity Pebbles for some reason.”
“We don’t have cereal here?” Ben asks.
“No, we do. I just . . . I want Fruity Pebbles.” We have adult cereals, boxes of brown shapes fortified with fiber.
“Well, should we go get some? I’m sure CVS is still open and I’m sure they sell Fruity Pebbles. Or, I could go get them for you.”
“No! I can’t let you do that. That would be so lazy of me.”
“That is lazy of you, but you’re my wife and I love you and I want you to have what you want.” He starts to get up.
“No, really, you don’t have to.”
“I’m going.” Ben leaves the room briefly and returns with his bike and shoes.
“Thank you!” I say, now lying across the sofa, taking up the space he just abandoned. Ben smiles at me as he opens the front door and walks his bike through it. I can hear him put the kickstand down and I know he will come back in to say good-bye.
“I love you, Elsie Porter Ross,” he says, and he bends down to the couch to kiss me. He is wearing a bike helmet and bike gloves. He grins at me. “I really love the sound of that.” I smile wide. “I love you!” I say to him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I love you! I’ll be right back.” He shuts the door behind him.
I lay my head back down and pick up a book, but I can’t concentrate. I miss him. Twenty minutes pass and I start to expect him home, but the door doesn’t open. I don’t hear anyone on the steps.