Andrew Richmond
I try to be a more-significant other than the wives and other husbands of my wife’s coworkers as I am led around the room. I use the appropriate words and try to remember what we discussed. I offer smart introductions. Depart on high notes. I straighten up when everyone at one table agrees we are all going to suffer a cancerous fate. I say we should write the Governor and tell him we’re dying. Larry, Regional Sales Manager, slaps the table and says he’ll sign anything I put in front of him. Says he’ll sign anything my wife puts in front of him. I say we’ll send it without a stamp. Everyone at the table laughs and puts his or her cocktail or martini or beer toward the middle and touches the rims and necks. In the dim light I can see lipstick smudges on the glasses and where the bottles of beer have left black-brown speckled rings on the tablecloth. I can see this face my wife makes through the glass and it’s as ugly as the smudges. We continue into the evening from one exchange to the next until we are away from everyone and the two of us stand off in one place and hold our drinks to our chests. We do not brush elbows or look off in a common direction. We hold our drinks to our chests and rock back and forward. We do not speak. I do not say how many times have I pinched a mole on your back and said yes you should have it looked at or no I think it’s the same? A mole is a mole to me. A speck a speck. Nothing is written on my hand here but I do not say these things. We smile in a way we have. Cameras flash and the attendees speak deeply into the ears of one another. Everyone claps when Larry, Regional Sales Manager, announces he will now announce this year’s Regional Sales Leader. He puts two hands around the microphone. He puts his mouth onto it. Some people are already at the coat check with their tickets. I feel for my ticket. The ticket is warm. Larry, Regional Sales Manager, opens the envelope and says this year’s Regional Sales Leader is not my wife. It is not someone I have ever met. I say we can go. We take our coats from the check. We make our way through the attendees and say goodbye very little. Near the door there is this disorganized firing of camera flashes. My wife kisses me on the cheek. There are these flashes and then both of her arms are around me and she kisses me on the neck. I do not say sacrifices have been made or that I feel halfway if not entirely responsible. She opens her mouth over my skin. I continue into dark this way without saying. I go forever before this woman I am also holding works the bone with her merlot teeth.