Die Before I Wake. Laurie Breton

wrapped my arms around his neck. Tonight, Tom needed comforting. Regardless of our differences, we were husband and wife. I’d agreed to stand by him, in good times and bad. And the kind of comfort he needed tonight, only I could offer.

      He raised his head, looked into my eyes, and smiled.

      And I took his hand and led him to the bed.

      

      They say that make-up sex is the best kind.

      It must be true, because that night there was a poignancy to our lovemaking that hadn’t been there before. We’d weathered a storm together and, perhaps because it reminded us of the fragility of life and the uncertainty of relationships, it had brought us closer. Left us more attuned to each other.

      Our marriage was solid. I had no doubts about marrying Tom; this was a forever thing. We’d had a little spat, but that was an inevitable result of couple-hood. It might be the first, but it wouldn’t be the last. Marriage isn’t a static thing; it’s a fluid entity, one that involves continual adjustments and constant negotiations.

      Tonight, we’d foregone all that in the name of something more primal. It wasn’t until later, after the éclairs were gone and Tom was sleeping silently beside me, that I realized we’d never gotten around to discussing Riley’s accusations. We hadn’t gotten around to discussing much of anything. The aforementioned make-up sex had taken precedence over everything verbal. We’d let our bodies do the talking for us.

      Which wasn’t a bad thing, but I didn’t want it to become a habit. Although our coupling was delicious, sex can’t solve every problem, and trying to use it as a problem-solving mechanism only leads to bigger problems down the road. Some issues need to be talked out or they fester and grow. Sometimes, guidelines need to be drawn. Not every problem can be resolved with a quick—or not-so-quick—roll between the sheets.