(I know, I know, today’s Saturday. But don’t people think of Sundays as lazy more than Saturdays? The whole Sabbath day of rest thing and all that. Enjoy and let me know what you think.–Rona)
Copyright 2010 by Rona Fernandez, All Rights Reserved
Rebecca didn’t want to get out of bed. It was Sunday, the day of rest, and that’s exactly what she wanted to do. All day. In bed. Rest.
Isn’t this supposed to be the day the Lord rested too? She thought to herself, feeling the left side of her mouth tilt upwards in a mocking grin. Ten years of Catholic school had only drummed rebellion against all things religious into her veins.
She didn’t look over at her alarm clock, which also rested on Sundays, but she could tell from how bright the light was behind her ineffective Venetian blinds that it was at least 9am, maybe even 10 o’clock. She’d gone to bed last night on the late side, 2am, even though all she’d done was stay at home and watch TV and talk on the phone with Mauricio, who was still stuck in Chicago because of a snowstorm, or so he said. Lately, Rebecca’s detected a tell-tale note of protection in his voice, as if he was holding something back from her. More than once, when he’d come back from one of his business trips, she’d braced herself for a confession of adultery, but Mauricio had never delivered. Only come back and fucked her brains out—obliterating,for a few days at least, her doubts about the security of their relationship.
But is it adultery, she thought, if you’re not married?
She sat up in bed, almost as a reflex. The sunlight outside seemed to be calling to her. She wore some flannel pajamas that felt too warm and itchy now. She could tell it was going to be a nice day—no rain, maybe it would even hit 65. She imagined herself walking alone on a trail in Sibley park, and wished for the umpteenth time that she had a dog. She reached up to the ceiling with both arms, causing her vertebra to crack and pop in a satisfying way. She looked at the clock: 9:45am.
Bingo, she said aloud, snapping her fingers. She set her feet on the floor, felt the rough texture of her bedroom carpet. As she walked to the kitchen, trying to think of what foodstuffs in her refrigerator could be manipulated into something resembling breakfast, her cell phone rang, its tinny melody muffled by some kind of cloth.
Shit, she said. She couldn’t remember where it was. She shrugged, too tired to care much, and wended her way around the floor cushions she’d strewn in the living room the night before so she could watch ‘La Dolce Vita’ comfortably. Mauricio hated that movie, but she thought it was brilliant.
Just as she opened the fridge, she heard a loud clicking coming from the front door. Her heart leapt inside her ribs, knowing it could only be one person.
Hey, you awake? Mauricio’s voice called out at medium volume, probably not wanting to frighten her. She could hear him making his way to the bedroom, and she giggled to herself as she tiptoed out of the kitchen to follow him. Just the sight of his back—broad-shouldered and strong—walking away from her sent a tremble through her thighs.
Maybe he’s cheating on me, she thought, but do I really care? Am I just too lazy to give a shit? She laughed at herself, which made Mauricio jump and turn, dropping his carry-on to the floor with a thud.
Jesus, you scared the shit out of me, he said, clutching one hand to his chest.
Like a woman, she thought. This just made Rebecca laugh harder. She pointed herself towards him and ran, hurtling herself forward with all her weight.