The Thrill of Romance

Evelyn pulled the large flat sheet from the dryer, hair raising in all directions from static sparks. She never put the fitted sheet in the dryer with the flat sheet and pillowcases because pillowcases would get bunched up in the elastic corners. Despite deftly extracting the California King flat sheet, a pillowcase caught the edge, and fell to the spotless floor.

“Fuck!” Evelyn had had enough. “Really?” She continued her tirade. “GOD, I hate making beds! It’s the absolutely worst chore on the planet! They literally send men and women into outer space, but they can’t fucking come up with more efficient bedding?”

She stopped dead in her tracks, the large flat sheet now coming dangerously close to touching the floor, but a brilliant idea forming. She resumed folding the sheets into store-bought packaged perfection and placed them into the impeccably organized linen closet. She went to the den where her husband was riveted by the 2021 Tokyo Olympics.

“What does NASA do for bedding?” she asked. He stared at the 80-inch TV screen, flipping channels from one sports event to another. “Roger.” He looked down, the only thing drawing his attention away from the sports channels being his work. Evelyn tilted her head back and closed her eyes in exasperation. She loved him, but when he was in the sports zone, she might as well not even exist. “Roger!”

He glanced at her. “Sorry pookie bear. What?” He shuffled some documents.

“You work for NASA, for God’s sake. What the hell do you guys do for bedding? Astronauts are in space for months on end. They must have some practical hygienic bedding solution that doesn’t require washing machines, static cling and forcing ill-fitting sheets and pillowcases onto an unwieldy mattress and lumpy pillows.” He stared blankly at her. She could have been speaking Martian for all he knew.

She rolled her eyes in defeat. “Please just ask someone at the office. I’m sure some woman at your place of work will have made the connection.”

Evelyn left him in his man cave and returned to her chores. They had been married for over 20 years, Roger enjoyed a high-profile position at NASA while Evelyn laid low, the happy housewife. Little did he know, she had earned hundreds of thousands of dollars as a ghostwriter for bestselling spy novelists over those years. He assumed her writing was a hobby. She never hid the revenues, but he never asked.

The next morning, she brought him his usual coffee in bed. He was sitting up against the piled pillows, legs crossed, eyes half-open, hair disheveled, a soft moue, like a sleepy Buddha. Evelyn had already done her yoga, Tai Chi, and meditation. Two kinds of genius.

She kissed his lips. “Morning, poo.”

He sipped appreciatively. “Thanks boo bear.”

Evelyn went back to her housework and writing. Roger emerged a half hour later shaved and dressed for work. He kissed her on the lips.

“Have a nice day, boo bear.”

“Don’t forget, ask your female colleagues about astronaut bedding today.”

“What?” His blank stare belied the calculations spinning in his mind. She knew that he knew that she wasn’t going to let it go. But he was going to make her say it anyway.

“I’ve been cleaning your house and making your bed for 20 years,” Evelyn said. “The least you can do is streamline one of my chores.” He blinked. “Please just find out what they do for sheets and pillowcases in space.” Her eyes returned to her computer screen, and he left.

Days turned into weeks. Evelyn had stopped asking about the space sheets, but she hadn’t forgotten. Her latest writing project necessitated a lot of research leaving her little time to do anything else, so she had resumed her daily chores as usual. But one morning, on an exasperation-driven whim, she decided to do a little investigating herself.

After Roger left for work, she followed him. He parked at the office space emblazoned with his name, confirming that he did indeed still have a day job, so that was a good sign. She hadn’t thought through her next move, but she had brought her laptop and a thermal cup of coffee. Her mobile phone hotspot provided connectivity. She opened a web browser and began researching NASA product development. But it yielded nothing of interest by way of bedding.

Suddenly, she saw Roger come out of the building with a woman who appeared to be a fifteen-years-younger version of Evelyn, slim, blond, fresh-faced, with a wholesome smile and intelligent eyes. They got in his car and drove off. Evelyn followed at a safe distance. They stopped at two high-end furniture stores. Evelyn waited in the car until they came back out, not wanting to risk detection.

But by the third store, she couldn’t help but sneak in to observe them. A saleswoman discussed the bed they were looking at, fluffing a pillow, and encouraging them to try it out. They lay down together, turning this way and that, in sync, at one point facing each other, affectionately smiling, and then turning in the same direction, loosely spooning.

Evelyn stomped away, blood boiling. She got in her car and sped home the whole time trying to figure out her next move. What the fuck was he doing? Buying furniture for their new home together? Is he leaving me to move in with a younger woman?

As a writer of spy thrillers, she had mastered the art of suspense. Although she secretly seethed every time she saw him, she betrayed none of her plan. As the holidays approached, Evelyn was preparing her best surprise Christmas gift ever.

Over the years, it had become a game for Roger to try to guess what she was giving him. Roger was impossible to buy gifts for. But Evelyn realized long ago that the gift of art, in particular beautiful pieces by masters such as Hockney, Dali and even Theodor Seuss Geisel a.k.a. Dr. Seuss, always made him gleeful. Their walls were covered in a puzzled patchwork of art, a symmetrically pleasing display meticulously arranged by Evelyn.

But he had never been able to guess what she had gotten him, and she sometimes increased the suspense by playing pranks. For example, one year, she framed and gift wrapped a finger painting her young niece had done. When he pulled it from under the tree as excited as a child on Christmas, it was almost sad to see his disappointment at the big reveal. But the thrill of seeing his face when she pulled the large Hockney hidden under the sofa made it all worthwhile.

This Christmas gift would be the best surprise ever.

Finally, Christmas morning arrived. It had been three months since her initial request for space sheets. None of that mattered anymore. He was no longer the absentminded-but-loving husband to her. She didn’t even know him anymore. She had mounted the divorce papers in an extra-large frame for maximum anticipation and effect.

“You first!” Roger said, eyes sparkling with pride. He reached behind the tree and pulled out a large beautifully wrapped box and plopped it on the floor in front of her.

I wonder if SHE wrapped it for him, Evelyn conjectured bitterly. She pulled off the top, only to find another charmingly wrapped gift box inside. Finally, she reached a third nested box, feeling the heft, knowing this was the one. She took a deep breath, eyelids drooped in foreseen disappointment. Let me guess, another knife set, she glowered silently.

She lifted the lid and looked inside. Her stomach did a flip, then sank.

“Space Sheets!” Roger beamed. “Janelle and I developed them. I followed your suggestion and asked one of the women at work, and you were right! She’s brilliant, a big help. We tested a bunch of sheets and beds and developed these. NASA is putting them on their product-development roster, it could be a huge revenue stream.”

“Janelle?” Evelyn asked, the saliva drying up in her mouth. “Blond? Nice smile?”

“Yes, that’s her.” His eyes softened. “She reminds me of you.”

Silence filled the room, accompanied only by holiday music from the Hallmark Channel Yule Log.

“Is that for me?” Roger asked, eyes wide, starring at the large, gift-wrapped frame under the Christmas tree.

END