Prompt: Write about the last time a character danced

I could tell by the weight of his footsteps when he came in that he’d had a bad day or at the very least, an exhausting one. He kicked off his boots forcefully and grew quiet — collecting himself before he faced me. I closed the book on my lap and stood.

“Hey hun,” he called from the entryway.  

He offered me a weak smile as he entered the living room and I mirrored one back.

“Tough day?”

“Oh, you know, the same bullshit.”

“I was going to order us Chinese, if that sounds OK to you?”

He nodded his head but was no longer listening.

“I’m going to go wrap up some work in the office,” he said, staring down at his phone. He slipped into the side room, closing the door behind him.

I closed my eyes, resolving to push past my disappointment and walked over to our record player. I scanned the spines until my eyes landed on The Cranberries record we always used to put on in our early days of dating. I flipped it to the B side and dropped the needle. The intro of “Linger” filled our apartment.

​I remembered dancing to this song with him, back when our love was new and my heart ached wondering if he felt for me the way I did for him. I told myself that dancing to that song was a good sign—it would be cruel to hold me and sway with me the way he did to those lyrics if his heart didn't desire to wrap itself around mine.

We were far past those early days of guessing and anticipation, of sitting at home on my bed, thinking of him and questioning if he too thought of our future. The uncertainty of it all had felt so miserable then. But now, standing alone in the living room we had decorated together, had lived in for years, I longed for that surge of feeling. I wanted more than anything to feel the weight of his hands on my hips as he pulled me closer, pulled me in.