Martin shifted on the bed trying not to wake Tracy. When she had suggested that it would be better if they had a four-foot bed, he had agreed. His one love was to sit up at night and read Dickens. Now he had the bedside table and a lamp, but if he moved Tracy would shift and moan.
Even turning over in bed had become a synchronized movement. So as Martin shifted, trying to get more comfortable Tracy stirred.
Martin winced. “Yes, Sweetie?”
“Did you get it?” Tracy’s voice was muffled and slow with sleep.
“No,” Martin said abstractly as he read the next paragraph.
Martin put down his book and looked at his wife. She was still asleep or almost asleep. “What should I have got?” he asked, a worried frown on his face.
“Um…” Martin reached for his book realising that he was getting no sense from his wife.
“For tomorrow,” she suddenly said and turned her back to him.
Tomorrow? Martin wracked his mind trying to find the answer. “Sweetie, what’s happening tomorrow?”
Tracy’s eyes sprang open and she sat up. “What?”
“Nothing,” Martin said. “I thought you said something in your sleep…”
“Oh,” Tracy said, flopping back onto the bed. “For a moment there I thought you’d forgotten Mum’s birthday. You did get the ….. ummmmm….”
Martin froze. Oh God he’d forgotten. Slowly he eased out of the bed.
Tracy twitched slightly. “Where are you going?”
“Just giving you some distance.”
From the door Martin poised himself on the threshold. “Sweetie?”
Tracy turned and looked at him. She narrowed her eyes.
“I forgot.” And as her expression turned to one of shock he stepped into the hall and gently closed the door behind him. Maybe he ought to give her some time to cool off. As he lifted his foot up to step forward he heard his wife get out of bed.
“What?” Her indignant voice echoed around the house.
This post is inspired by the daily prompt – Talk in your Sleep.