Damn, He Can't Compare

10. ring ring

June 17th, 1986. Curt's and my house. 7:02 A.M.

I sit back with my feet benched on the dinning table, waiting for Curt to get out of the shower. I give in and light a cigarette in the house, even though he'd snatch it off me and throw it out the window. He had quit smoking four months ago after developing a sickly cough, I never used to smoke, only when I'm stressed out.

I lift my legs off the table, eyeing the phone hanging on the wall less than two meters across the room. My knees jump up and down, I'm already dying to call Roland, it's been a day since the incident and I desperately needed to know where I stood in all this.

I butt the half-burnt cigarette in a napkin before stepping over to the phone. I take a deep breath, then dial the number. I lean against the wall, trailing my finger over it, I was expecting to hear the answerphone, instead the words, "Sorry the person you've trying to contact isn't available-" cross through my ears. I slapped the phone back into place before the message finished.

Just as I walked away, the phone rings and I spring back to it like a magnet, practically falling over myself, "Hello!?" I say, a little to eager. "Someone is a little chipper this morning. One could think you had a great time yesterday." Roland remarked.

I press my lips together, "It was... just...fantastic." I replayed the moment in my head over and over for the last day, it feels like so long ago. "I knew you would like it." He replies.

"You do think I'm... you know... good, don't you?" I hinted to him, with a purred smirk on my face, I fell deeper into the wall. A long pause, before he spoke again, "I think we might have to do it again to make sure." Roland spoke dreamily into the phone.

I press my lips together, "Maybe, we will have to definitely work something out." I said shamelessly, noticing my husband making his way into the kitchen, he mouths the words, "Who's are you talking to?" and I mouthed back, "Dad."

I stare Curt down, watching as he walks to the fridge and takes milk out. He's bound to know who I'm talking to, so I stretched the twisting phone cord around the corner, "Does Curt know you can move it like that?"

June 20th, 1986. Curt's and my house. 10:02 A.M.

I finished zipping up my suitcase and sat on the edge of the bed. My eyes flickered around the room, this was the last time I would see it for six whole months.

I ran a hand through my hair, and tied it up into a ponytail, relieving myself from the heat. It's now been four days since I went to Roland's house, and four days since I've started lying to my husband.

"Babe!" I heard Curt yell from the living room, I snapped out of my thoughts. "We have to go!" I stood up, grabbing the suitcase and attempting to lug it to the front door. Curt jogs up to me and picks it up easily, "Show off!" I giggled, chasing after him onto the front lawn.

I look back at the house, shielding my eyes from the sun while he loads the car up. I come back to reality when I hear the car horn, "Goodbye house!" I waved, jumping into the car.