The Things We Won’t Say To Each Other

Lucy is home sick

(remember that time when I snuck and watched Days of Our lives when I had strep?)

The daffodils are out

(remember that field of daffodils near Blenheim Palace?)

The skin on my hands is weirdly dry

(what was that lotion you use?)

Colin Firth is in a remake of The Secret Garden

(remember how you that book made you cry)

We probably have to cancel our travel

(didn’t you and dad cancel a trip once?)

The rug finally came

(Should I get a mat if it slides a little?)

I need a minor surgery

(I’ll be fine, but I’m a baby. Can you come anyway?)

I googled Father Paquin

(his lawyers are contesting his sentence, did you know?)

Nina comes back from Indonesia today

(remember how I used to cry when she was away?)

Nicky wants a gymnastics party

(remember how the smell of gyms make me gag?)

I still collect them.

And sometimes I count.

All the things we won’t say to each other.

Today I’ll make lunches and dinner and beds. I’ll talk to clients and to kids and my spouse. I’ll pay bills, buy cheese, paper towels and cucumbers. I’ll sit on the porch in the rain and I’ll check my e-mail.

But the hardest thing I will do today is the same as yesterday.

I will not talk to her.

And you are not doing something today, too. Aren’t you?

Imagining me saying nothing.

Just squeezing your hand.