Don't Remind Me

Epilogue

"Aren't you just the sexiest?" My husband's desire-filled voice was low, his words murmured with awe-struck pauses. 

I paused at my bedroom door, eyebrows raised, hands resting on the door jamb as I listened to this conversation happen down the hall. 

"Yeah. You're a beauty, my love. And you're all mine." he continued. 

For any other woman, hearing your husband of ten years, the love of your life--your soulmate--say these words in the late/5 am-ish hours of the night hours--NOT to her--could be cause for a messy conversation. Not for me though. 

I rounded the corner across the hall from our room, and entered the tiny service kitchenette; hands folded over the  over-sized, hooded sweatshirt I had 'borrowed' from Azaan. His lean, muscled back was towards me, typically shirtless. I admired his ass from this angle, clad in the black and neon Pacman jammies I had gotten him as a joke. 

 "I could look at you all day. Such perfection. But we gotta be quick, baby, before The Dictator wakes up."  He whispered-groaned. 

"Dirty-talking to the Turkey Pizza again, honey?" I asked sweetly, making him startle. A fork clattered to the granite counter top, and he turned guiltily, mouth bulging, shielding the food from my vision. I waited for him to swallow. 

"Cheese puffs." he muttered sullenly, giving me the stink-eye. 

I gasped indignantly when I realized what he had done. 

"Ruby's cheese puffs? MY CHEESE PUFFS?" I marched with purpose towards him, prepared to wrestle his ass away from the one thing I had asked him to stay the flub away from. 

"They were calling to me, yaar! I swear. I couldn't resist." He shrugged. " And you should work on your sharing skills hun. The kids need a good role model, y'know."

"You--" I lunged towards the Rubbermaid box behind him, feinting first right, then left. 

My fingers scrabbling for the delicious treat Ruby had sent in a home-made care-package from London yesterday. Azaan, and his spawn had claimed every last tasty morsel; except the damned cheese puffs. 

The Cheese Puff Thief was quicker. And stronger. 

One arm wrapped around my torso, he effortlessly perched the box on top of the microwave oven with one hand (a place I could barely reach in 4-inch heels).  With the other hand he popped one more golden cheese puff into his mouth, and I all but exploded. 

"UNHAND ME, TRAITOR!' I yelled, digging my elbow into his gut. He immediately clapped a hand over my mouth-one that smelled of cheesy heaven-and tried to shush me. I screamed frustratedly against his fingers. 

"Shhhhh. You'll wake up the kids and cats, Sweet. That'll mean sharing the remaining 5 puffs between 6 mouths. Now you know, neither of us want that. Do we?" he murmured against my ear, his hands still holding me firm. "Nod if you agree, so I can let you go." 

I bit his index finger. 

He yelped, swearing under his breath. I took lightning fast action, using my core strength to throw him off with a defense move that he surely regrets teaching me now, because two seconds later he was howling, once I had twisted his fingers backwards to control him, and release myself. 

"You...cheesepuff chor (thief)!" I accused him, panting gleefully. He gritted his teeth, trying to bear my assault manfully. 

We froze when we heard the pitter patter of little feet down the hall. 

The Spawn had awakened. 

And he brought company. 

"Meemee?" big dark eyes drooped sleepily as my little one eyed his parents curiously. Clutching his most prized possession: a threadbare one-eyed stuffed dog named Poop, and followed dutifully by our old kitty Chingu. Both boy and cat paused to take inventory of the scene: Mommy making Daddy cry over cheese puffs.