The Oldywed Game

By Nina Miller

“What color were my pantyhose on our first anniversary?” asked Nisha. Firelight flickered in James’s blue eyes as they snuggled on the couch. There was more gray at his temples, but he had the same intense gaze and determined grin.

“Can I phone a friend?” James slid a socked foot along her bare leg.

“You know I’m your only friend. Stop stalling. Answer the question,” Nisha grabbed her wineglass from the coffee table. She loved watching him squirm every year. He’d remember big events in their relationship but forgot the little bits that added color.

James stood and paced the room. “You wore a plum-colored minidress,” he said, picking up books and thumbing through them.

“Don’t bother searching for my answer key,” said Nisha, adjusting her bra. She hoped her notes wouldn’t crackle, but also wished he’d come looking for them. One glass of merlot in, she had a twinkle in her eye and smug smile ready for James. His flummoxed expression sent shivers up her spine.

“We were at that fondue place in Manhattan,” James chewed his bottom lip making him more alluring. She longed to kiss him. Nisha preferred these intimate celebrations to the dinners and parties of years past. Moments like these were a gift finer than any jewel.

“Time’s running out.” She rose and wrapped her arms around him. She felt his heat rise as she pressed against him.

“No fair, you’re trying to befuddle me with your wily ways.”

Nisha ran her nails along the back of his neck. “Is it working?”

“Olive,” he said.

“I love you, too,’ she said, squeezing him tighter.

“No, olive green. Your pantyhose. Winter 1998. You, me, and a bottle of Chablis.”

Nisha smiled, eyes welling with tears. He remembered! “Don’t forget cheese!”

“So much cheese.”

“Decades of cheesy, cheesy goodness,” she said, covering him with kisses. “Happy Anniversary, my love!”

🩷🩷🩷