The evening where rain never fell.
“It looks like it’s going to rain.” Reed ponders out loud, his voice hushed and low, the observation really just to himself but you hear it anyway.
He leans on the wall looking out onto the big and lush back garden, the many bouncy footballs, colourful building blocks and the small scale climbing frame being overshadowed by the set of greying clouds flouting overhead darkening the fading sunset. From where you stand, which is a good view of your husband’s ass in his black slacks but a bad view to see the evening sky brewing up a rainstorm, you ponder if it actually rain.
You’ve found you have a knack for telling when it’s going to rain, maybe it’s a parent’s instinct or maybe it’s because you’re the only person who uses the washing line out the back (Reed swears that the modified tumble dryer can dry anything but you don’t trust his little altered machine to dry your woollens, no thank you with that Sims™ 3 bullshit).
Really though, you have a deep seated feeling that the thing that’s coming isn’t rain or a thunder storm, though you’re not sure what else it could be.
Despite this feeling, you say what everyone has been saying all day.
“We need some rain.”
“Indeed we do.” Reed says as he walks over to you.
“Been too hot.” you moan as your achy body slides down the armless wooden dining table chair, a glass filled with cola being held like you’re an artist holding a fancy glass of whiskey.
“Right.” Reed takes the chair right next to you, it’s his chair that’s always next to yours at the little square dining table. His body doesn’t quite slump down but rather it stretches down similar to yours so he can look you in the eyes.
It’s been a stuffy and busy day. Stuffy as in patches of sweltering sunshine kind of stuffy and busy like going to work whilst dealing with two kids under ten kind of busy.
You’re already in your pyjamas which consist of a big oversized t-shirt with warn hems and a pair of soft ‘sports’ shorts that in principal would look stiff to wear but you’ve washed them so many times they are now super soft and comfy.
Actually, as soon as you got home from work with your daughter fresh from school, you had paid and sent home the baby sitter and gotten straight into your pyjamas. It’s just been one of those days where you didn’t care that your work clothes are crumpled and creased as you stuffed them quickly in the washing basket or that your kids were glued to the TV.
It wasn’t you turn too cook but you knew Reed would be tired, even if he would be a sweetheart and cook something for you four, so as soon as the pyjamas where on (and the kids distracted by re-runs of Arthur) you ordered take away and got out the large litre bottle of cola from the small fridge in the garage where you store the food you don’t want the kids to get at. For the rest of the evening you’ve been slouching around.
You cannot wait to curl up in bed with Reed and sleep a good eight hours, oh that would be so nice.
“I don’t think it’s going to rain though.” you softly says as you turn your head to see Reed as he stretches his arm around your shoulders.
“How so?” he smiles, “Can’t smell the rain like you usually do? No smell of mud it the air?”
“I don’t sniff mud Reed.” You laugh as your hand goes up to cradle his chin, your fingers playing with the bushy salt and pepper beard he has grown out.
Reed could probably explain why the air smells different when rain is coming, how the dirt becomes damp or why the clouds turn so grey and gloomy but he forgoes the science-y explanation, it’s too late and you’re both too tired for that.
For a moment you just dwell in the silent sweet moment of being near him in utter quite. The kids are in bed asleep and you both can finally relax and talk about silly things such as the weather or stay quiet and calm. His hazel eyes are bright as he looks at you, your own eyes now trained on combing his beard scruff.
“I-“ your fingers pause near the corner of his lips as you begin to speak, you’re voice hushing as soon as the first syllable stops.
You eyebrows knit together and your eyes flick back up to Reed’s with worry.
Instead of asking more questions Reed just leans in, arms all tangle around you, his face buries in the crook of your neck as he hugs you for dear life.
You assume his day hasn’t been the best that paired with the obvious looming anxiety and fear in your eyes makes you both cling onto one another for dear life. You face nestles into his fluffy brown hair, your own arms going around his broad shoulders, one hand dragging through the shorter hairs on nape of his neck the other gripping at his shirt. You both maybe awkwardly hunched over on the type of hard chairs that leave your ass achy but your bodies are ready to just tumble onto the floor in a heap.
You could sleep right there in his embrace if you weren’t suddenly aware that sleep won’t be coming tonight much like the rain won’t come.
It must be more than ten minutes before you both instinctively lean away just a tiny bit, just enough so Reed’s cheek is no longer smushed into your exposed skin that has turned warm and flushed nor is your nosed longer being tickled by the strands of greying brown hair on Reed’s head.
“Let’s go to bed.” Reed whispers.
You quickly kiss him.
The aim of the kiss is wonky so your lips end up on his top lip and moustache.
It makes you both smile none the less.
Reed kisses you again, this time spot on the lips.
“Let’s.” you murmur back as you pull away from the small kiss.
The ceiling with all it’s with bumpy texture that turns into different shapes keeps you entertained as you husband purposefully goes to your side of the wardrobe to route for some pyjamas to wear.
He’s still dressed in a shirt and slacks sans the toe pinching shiny polished shoes. The top two buttons on his crisp white shirt are undone, the washed out white of his undershirt peeking through along with small dark patches of chest hair as he pulls out a set of blue pyjamas.
All day he’s been wearing the causal business attire, the science and technology part of job taking up most of his day rather than the heroics and lifesaving stuff.
You look over to him and you let out a hearty laugh. He had to go and pull out the pyjama set consisting of a pair of baggy black joggers and a matching blue t-shirt with black sleeves, a flaking Fantastic Four logo plastered on the front. You’ve had the set for years. If you remember correctly almost twelve years, longer than you’ve known Reed.
They were a random purchase off of a dodgy website selling unlicensed superhero merchandise and back then you were piss poor and had a habit of spending money in the middle of the night on random things to quell the dreaded feeling of wanting more in life.
You’ve kept the t-shirt now holey and so faded that it’s almost white and the pair of jogging bottoms that are frayed at the ankles, the elastic loose and broken.
Even when you started dating Reed you had no fear in wearing the most comfortable set of clothing you own around him, you enjoyed his flustered face the first time he saw you wearing the t-shirt.
Now you watch him pull off his own shirt and under shirt underneath in one whole go (not even bothering undoing the buttons) and putting on the same old raggedy t-shirt that you bought all those years ago.
The t-shirt is baggy on Reed, it’s baggy when you wear it too. The bottoms are put on next, the material once fuzzy on the inside and a sharp jet black colour now thin and dark grey. He looks handsome, he always does.
Much like yourself Reed is tired so he joins you under the floral covers to look at the ceiling. You lay shoulder to shoulder. The bed is big enough to fit you both but Reed’s feet threaten to hang over the edge. Soon enough those legs will be tangled up with yours.
The warm yellow lights of the bedside lamps glow as you both watch the shapes in the ceiling only the distant sound of the city and the small breathing exhales filling the room.
The door is set ajar just in case one of the kids wonders in the room at night, the hallway black like a void like the outside, like the bathroom and the corner of the room, like the inside of your head all dark and shapeless. You don’t feel good, you feel confused and a tiny bit sick like a head ache is about to come on.
The kids when looking up at the ceiling often make out dramatic scenes of wizards and witches fighting or cute little farms with lines of apple trees or fields of farm animals like sheep.
For you the bumps in the ceiling twists into a simple shape.
Not much detail is there but you make out a star. It has five points and it distorts bigger until it just messes back into just a mass of plaster and paint. You wonder if Reed sees the star too or if he’s just thinking of something else.
“Reed.”
“Yes.”
You turn and cuddle into your husband once more this time your face resting on his chest rather than your face in his hair, your arm lazy draped over his side as he cuddles back.
“…Wake me up if I have a nightmare, ok.”
“Ok, I will.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too.”