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Only Daphne, sitting on the bed, naked, staring at the ring on her left hand.
This should be a dream. My new wife, in nothing but her wedding ring, in our bed.
Her wavy hair falls down her long, elegant back. An image straight out of a movie. Except for all the hurt in her posture.
She stares at the rock, transfixed, as if she's not sure how it got there. As if she's not sure how she got here.
She turns to me, her eyes wide, her face racked with some strange mix of fear and confusion.
I've seen the look on other people, other women, but never here. Never the morning after.
But then, I've never married someone on a dare.
Maybe this is the normal reaction on day one.
"Did we…" Her voice trails off. She doesn't quite get to a period or a question mark. She knows. But she doesn't know.
What is it she's asking?
If we had sex.
If we got married.
If we fell in love.
Did she forget all of it or just the part where I slipped a ring on her finger?
I don't know what to say, so I turn to her, and with as soft a voice as I can manage, I ask, "Are you okay?
She sits there, her eyes still on the ring, her feet still on the ground, her body's still tense and stiff.
That's a no if I've ever seen one, but which part hurts her?
It's one thing if she regrets her over-the-top dare. It's another if she wants to erase the entire night.
It meant something to me. It filled me in a way nothing else has.
"I'm sorry," she says. "I need a minute."
"Okay." I can give her space. If that's what she needs. "Do you want me to leave?" I'm not sure where to go. Only that I want to be somewhere else. Somewhere she isn't so hurt.
She shakes her head. "No, I'll go." She presses her palms together. "I'll text you later." She doesn't addwhen I'm ready to talk about this. OrIf I'm ready to talk about this.
No. Daphne is a grown-up. This is awkward, yes, but we both know better. We're both prepared to communicate.
Aren't we?
I was sure of that last night. Right now, I don't know.
Things aren't more clear in the bright light of day. They're just different.
"Do you need anything?" I ask.
She shakes her head. She stands up and tries to smooth her dress, but she's not wearing one. She's not wearing anything except the ring.
She looks down at her long, naked body as if she's not sure how that got here either.
But is she thinking all the way back to birth or just last night?
