Free The Wife of Reilly by Jennifer Coburn

sitting outside the Colosseum in Rome having a picnic of nothing but candy. In real life I would never overdose on sugar this way, but in the dream I wasn’t the least bit concerned about my weight. I was practically drunk on strawberry cream-filled chocolates when I fell onto our picnic blanket laughing. I don’t remember what was so funny, but Matt was laughing too. He rolled on to me and began kissing me, moving down toward my stomach. He lifted my shirt ever so slightly and began nibbling my belly. Then he asked me if I was awake. “Prudence, are you up?” he whispered, kissing my stomach again. “Prudence,” he teased. “Wake up.” Then Reilly was there kissing my stomach too.
    Shit, this really is Reilly! I realized as I bolted upright in bed. Damn it. I was enjoying that dream until my husband sidled his way into the picture. In the dark of our bedroom, I saw Reilly leaning onto his right elbow, coming at me in his Ward Cleaver pajamas. I felt as sexually repulsed as the time when my twelfth-grade chemistry teacher hit on me during detention. Both times I knew I couldn’t follow my instinct to bite and run. Then and now, I would have to come up with an excuse that spared the ego, but kept the enemy troops at bay.
    “Reilly, I’ve got a big meeting tomorrow. I need my rest tonight,” I explained.
    “You’ve got big meetings every day,” he reminded me.
    “I know, but I’m exhausted,” I said, irritated by his persistence.
    “There’s a new one,” Reilly muttered just loud enough for me to hear.
    “What’s that supposed to mean?” I shot back.
    Reilly started fiddling with the fitted sheet, trying to get it to hug the edge it had slipped from. After he accomplished this, he straightened the top sheet a bit.
    “Hello?!” I sniped.
    “What?!” he took it up a notch.
    “I asked you what that comment was supposed to mean and all you’re doing is making the bed in the middle of the fucking night. What did you mean, ‘That’s a new one’?” I said, using my dopey male voice as his.
    “I meant that you’ve been tired a lot lately,” he clipped.
    “I am tired,” I defended. “It’s not like I’m sitting around all day waiting for you to come home so I can put on my kimono and serve tea for you. So sorry if I have a life!”
    Exactly why was I trying to find a new wife for this shithead anyway? He is a selfish pig who thinks nothing of waking me up in the middle of the night because he wants to have sex. Reilly sighed and changed his strategy.
    “I know your job is stressful, but I also remember how we used to collapse into bed at night and wake up at three in the morning having sex, neither of us knowing who started it. Remember that, Prudence?”
    “That’s not what happened tonight!” I rebuffed. “You practically bludgeoned me on the head with a blunt object trying to wake me up. What did you expect me to do, wake up and say let’s do it baby?”
    “Not in those exact words,” Reilly answered.
    Not in this exact lifetime.
    The truth was I felt like I was cheating on Matt. And I had no interest in even kissing Reilly, much less having sex with him. I knew Reilly deserved a wife who was at least somewhat sexually available to him. I also knew that would never be me. I decided to continue my plan to find Reilly a nice, horny woman. So, the plan was deceitful and bizarre. In the end, he would be better off.
    “I’m sorry, Reilly,” I conceded. “This isn’t your fault. I’m just under an enormous amount of stress right now and I’m taking it out on you. Forgive me?”
    He smiled. “I’m sorry too.” Stop! Do not apologize to me. I feel guilty enough without you telling me that you’re sorry. I killed you over the weekend. I danced naked on your coffin. You have no apologies to make, Reilly. Please just spit on me and go to sleep.
    * * *
    At five that morning, my cell phone in my purse began to ring. I grabbed the entire bag and ran into the bathroom before Reilly rose