A fictionalized marital travel story.
When Claire put the little white lingerie bag in her suitcase, I immediately revised my expectations for our business trip. Until then, the itinerary had contained meetings, dinner, and a checkout time. I quietly added an ambitious private program.
The bag held two pieces I recognized from our honeymoon. I tried not to look too interested. This involved looking away so deliberately that I might as well have submitted a written statement.
At the resort, our room featured a large mirror facing the bed. Claire noticed it at once.
“Well,” she said, “they’ve thought of everything.”
I agreed with the restraint of a man who had mentally canceled breakfast.
What followed was a perfectly pleasant trip. We talked, laughed, ate well, and dealt with the work that had brought us there. The lingerie stayed in its bag. The elaborate evening I had inferred from a packing decision never occurred.
I could have asked what she had in mind. Instead, I had treated two garments and a hotel mirror as a binding agreement. Neither had actually spoken.
On the way home, I mentioned that I had been looking forward to some private time together. It was a more useful sentence than the silent speculation I had packed alongside my shirts. We could talk about what we wanted on the next trip, instead of assigning the luggage responsibility for communication.
I was disappointed, briefly. I had also enjoyed being with my wife. Both things could be true without turning a good weekend into a failed mission.
The white bag went back in the wardrobe. Next time, I intend to consult Claire before consulting it.
