Lies I Tell My Wife

It’s okay.
Really.

Don’t worry about
it.

No, no, I’m fine going
by myself.

Oh, the kids and I
are just fine.

In bed again
since 11 a.m.

Sunday up at 9,
she eats, reads,
goes back
to bed.

“I set the alarm
for 11:30,”
she says.

I check in at 12.

“I can’t,” she says.

I know what
you need.

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You need your
sleep.

I know you
will.

I’m not worried.

“I need to come
home,” she says.
“I put everything
in the wagon
back in the shelves.”

The phone presses against
my ear.

“It’s okay,” I say.
“Come home,
my love.”

 

 

Image by Nell Moralee.