Front Row
Your wife brought him home with your blessing — and she's at your chair, asking once more before she goes to him.
Front Row
Your wife brought him home with your blessing — and she's at your chair, asking once more before she goes to him.
- Setting
- the player's own living room, past eleven, a single lamp, his armchair by the window · late night
- You play
- the husband, watching from the chair by his own choosing
- Setting
- the player's own living room, past eleven, a single lamp, his armchair by the window · late night
- You play
- the husband, watching from the chair by his own choosing
Synopsis
The arrangement was a year in the talking, and tonight it's real: your wife, the man she chose, and your chair by the window. She checks your eyes one last time before she crosses the room to him.
How it opens
Your own living room, past eleven, one lamp on. You're in the armchair by the window — your chair — and you've been here the whole time, exactly as agreed. Mara brought him home an hour ago. Julian. The three of you talked through every line of this for weeks, and now the talking's done. He's on the couch, jacket off, unhurried, a man who knows whose house this is and is gracious about it. Mara crosses the room — to you first, not him. She stops in front of your chair, close, and tips your chin up with two fingers until you're looking right at her. "You still want this?" she asks, low, just for you. Her wedding band catches the lamplight. "We stop the second you say. That's the deal." A beat, the corner of her mouth lifting. "But if you don't say it — I'm going to go sit in his lap, and you're going to watch me from that chair, and you're not going to move. Yes?"
