I do not own The Magic of Ordinary Days.

Cool to see Skeet Ulrich very un-Skeet-ish. Even if I am 20 years late to the party.

The Magic of Ordinary Days and Nights

Clarifying Conversation

Each footfall is like a step toward doom as he plods up the path to the house that evening.

He's worked himself almost to exhaustion throughout the afternoon, trying to drive all thought from his head just for some reprive.

It hadn't worked.

He is embarrassed and ashamed, not only of his comportment during their . . . rendezvous, but just as much or moreso of after.

He's got some heavy explaining and apologizing to do and the sensitive nature of the subject makes him blush before he's even started.

The homefires are burning as he opens the door and steps into the house.

The lights are on and the chill evening air is replaced with warmth and light.

He can smell soup and though Livy is no great cook, she has markedly improved over the months she has lived in this house with him.

If he's to know her, she's got fresh bread and perhaps some pudding to accompany whatever is simmering in the pot on the stove.

Little Daniel is with her in the kitchen, lounging in his baby chair well away from any hot splatterings that could harm him.

He's busy chewing on his blanket as Livy turns to him, expression welcoming and careful.

She's dressed fully, of course she is, and her hair is fixed and pinned.

Makeup neat and complimentary.

She is a picture he always enjoys.

And the first words between them since that fateful luncheon event spill out of him before he's considered them.

"I'm sorry, Livy."

He's taken off his hat and is worrying the brim over and over in his nervous hands.

And his wife smiles even though there is pain in her eyes and evenso . . .

"It's okay. You don't have to apologize."

. . . her voice is gentle and calm.

"Would you mind telling me what happened, Ray? You know. . . after."

This is a very difficult question to answer, for Ray doesn't really truly know himself, and thusly cannot really find the words to express his overreaction to the perfectly acceptable act of lovemaking.

"I don't . . . I don't know."

This can't be enough though she doesn't protest, he knows he internally does.

So he tries again.

"I love you, Livy. With all my heart and soul."

Her smile is lovely and sweet and a little confused.

"And I . . . I want you. I do want you. Like any man would."

He's working through the words, it's so difficult to properly express himself and on a matter such as this especially.

"I . . . just . . . I don't know . . . I felt . . ."

And this is impossible to get through, he can't imagine how he's going to manage this by himself.

"I felt guilty when it was over and I guess . . . I guess I just . . . panicked."

It's not enough, he knows it's not.

But Livy's touch is gentle as he sits down at the table with her and she reaches out and puts a light hand on his.

"It's okay. It was a lot for you to deal with, I'm sure. And I didn't mean to pressure or upset you."

Her cheeks are turning the prettiest pink as she speaks.

"I just . . . I just thought you wanted to. Because . . . well, you're my husband and I'm your wife and . . . it's one of the things we're made for. To enjoy one another. In all ways."

He knows this, of course he does.

He's not quite as stupid as people often seem to consider him to be.

But her statement is a revelation to him nonetheless, a shock, as it opens his brain enough to receive and consider it.

"It's one of the things we're made for. To enjoy one another. In all ways."

He tries to speak, a response, an agreement.

But none of these things will leave his lips.

All that he can muster is . . .

"Did you . . . did you . . . like it . . . doing that? Did it feel . . . good?"

. . . a single stammering question.

Two.

And she smiles.

"Parts of it."

And she's blushing and it's so pretty and he can feel his face blushing and suddenly he's thrown back into the strong sensory memory of their time together only hours before and he feels an electric current race its way through his body.

"I like when you kiss me. I like when you touch me."

Her blush grows pinker, her expression something he can't quite identify.

"I like seeing you . . . like that. Your . . . reactions."

He blushes harder and his loins stir.

"What about . . ."

And he can't finish the question, he doesn't have it in him.

But she knows, understands his meaning.

And she doesn't shrink away, doesn't flinch.

"It's not . . . unpleasant."

Draws herself up, with something like a secret smile on her face that makes him again envision them together like that.

"In fact, I think it could be very enjoyable. With practice."

Again, Ray feels his mind open to a new concept.

And again, he feels his loins stir.

"You . . . you want to do that again?"

She giggles, not childishly, somehow it's womanly and beautiful and swells his chest even further.

And she nods.

"Yes. With you."

And Ray Singleton finds himself breaking into . . .

"Okay."

"Okay."

. . . a broad smile.

Pride. Happiness.

Shyness overwhelms him momentarily, he drops his eyes from hers to the table.

Pulls his gaze back up to her face.

As his beautiful wife blushes so prettily.

"You could come by tonight. If you want. After I put the baby down to sleep."

And invites him to cross the hall from his childhood bedroom . . .

"You could even stay. If you wanted."

"Okay."

"Okay."

. . . and into their marriage bed.

"Ray . . ."

"Livy . . ."