Michael and I were finishing up dinner when he said, "Come with me. We'll clean up after."
I balked at first, feeling the need to clear off the table, fill the dishwasher, wipe the counters.
He took my hand and I trailed after him into the living room. Blankets were spread out on the rug with two green pillows, at opposite ends.
"What's this set-up for?" I asked.
"I thought we'd lie down and put our feet together," he said.
"Okay," I said, "I guess so. I mean, the kitchen is..."
"We'll get it after," he said.
Quietly I resisted. My stomach was too full to lie down and everything was still on the table as if the occupants had vanished out of thin air leaving dirty dishes, sweating glasses, empty shrimp shells, slightly pulled out chairs.
Then I thought, The man has made a bed on the floor, the hell with the dishes!
We stretched out; his head at one end, mine at the other, bottoms of our feet together. We stayed like that for a good twenty minutes, toes kissing, while the evening light spread over the ceiling.