Here we are – washing up again. He’s got the tea towel in his hand. Smiling. That look on his face. I’ve drawn a moustache with soap suds on my upper lip. He laughs at me. We’re approaching the end of this bottle of wine and it’s time to maybe crack open another. We haven’t decided. I sip the last few gulps of the white.
Time for red, yes?
I’ve been scrubbing away at the roasting dish for a few minutes as he hums and haws by the drying rack, sipping wine. I look at him and he stops. Flicks me with the tea towel and takes another sip. I wish he wasn’t so impatient tonight.
The cheesecake is defrosting on the side, ready for after the dishes. He pulls a fork from the drawer and scoops himself a piece from the plate. He’s just about to take a bite.
Put it down. It’s for afterwards. Dry the dishes.
He tells me to hurry up. That the roasting dish can soak. But no, I have to clean it now. He knows this. Otherwise it will be ruined. But he gives me that look, and grabs the corkscrew to open the red.
He leaves the fork next to soap suds for me as he pours another glass of red. When I think he can’t see me, I quickly scoff the cheesecake. As he comes over to kiss me, he can see the dessert in my mouth. My cheeks burn red. He tells me not to worry and starts scrubbing the roasting dish himself.