He smiled at her faintly and, in a gesture he’d been doing for almost 34 years now, he approached her and wrapped his arms around her from behind. His lanky arms wrapped around her middle and he rested his cheek against the back of her head, allowing his eyes to slip shut a moment.
“Hmmm I keep telling you, I’d be more than happy to do more for you…” he said before pulling away from her and plucked a towel from where it hung over the oven’s door rack. “My parents didn’t raise a pig who lets his wife do all the cleaning. Remember?” he asked, as he began to dry a plate.
“I know,” she said softly, putting another plate on the rack. “But I was the one who made the breakfast so I had to clean it up and I thought you’d like to lay in bed a bit longer like you usually do.”
The last dish was done and she unplugged the water to let it drain, her fingers wrinkling up worse thanks to the water.
“Speaking of your parent’s, I hope those two are doing well right now. I need to give them a call since I haven’t talked to them since yesterday,” she said softly, knowing old age didn’t slow those two down.
Jack was moving across to the kitchen door that led to the backyard, opening the door. They lived in the suburbia, now. Metro City was looming in the far distance, where it belonged now. In their house, the corner on the block, the newspaper was always delivered into the backyard, and Jack saw it from here by the pavement that led to the garden outside.
“I think my mother’ll forgive you if you don’t call her today dear.” Jack said as he quickly stepped outside and picked up the newspaper before Missy could get her teeth on it, and returned inside.
Jack Maple 