And Life Comes Back: A Wife's Story of Love, Loss, and Hope Reclaimed by Tricia Lott Williford Page B
Authors: Tricia Lott Williford
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down his cards, grabbed my hand, and we ran to the dance floor. “No shame, no regrets,” he whispered into my ear as we stood on the edge of the floor. And that’s how I found myself in the middle of a ballroom in my jammies, cocktail dresses surrounding me.
My husband was a very conservative, private man. He preferred to fly under the radar. He often added addenda to our conversations: “and don’t blog about this.” He preferred a low profile, and he loved anonymity. So perhaps you can imagine my surprise when he twirled me to the dance floor, grabbed the microphone, and launched us into the game. With the swagger of a confident man who owned the room, he trash-talked our competitors: “I’ve been married to this girl for ten years. Let me show you how it’s done.”
Well, here we go, then.
Our competitors were four other couples: one couple who had been dating for a few months, a couple celebrating their fifth anniversary, an engaged couple, and a bride and groom married roughly seventeenhours earlier. I had thought the game would be one of hidden questions and answers, a test on how well you know your partner. No, it was instead a series of provocative relays that required teamwork, erotic positions, and public displays of impropriety. One by one, couples were knocked out of the competition when they didn’t receive the loudest cheers from the crowd, and still we stayed on the floor. Finally, there were two couples left: us and the new bride and groom. He even wore a tie.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” the host announced into the microphone, “for our last round each of these gentlemen will have a chance to show his wife how much he loves her. Let’s bring a chair out onto the dance floor, please.” His glittery assistant brought a chair to the floor with grandiose flair. The newlyweds went first.
He seated his bride in the chair, and the host asked him, “Tell me, sir, do you love your wife?”
“Yes, I do.” Bless his heart, he was so nervous he was twisting his brand-new, shiny gold wedding band.
“How much do you love her?”
“Um, I love her a lot.”
“Have you ever danced for her?” The host taunted the young groom.
“Um, no.”
“Well, today is your day to show your wife—and everyone in this room—how much you love her. When the music starts, you have forty-five seconds to show her what you’ve got.”
The music blared, and he performed the most benign, prudish dance. Very precious and respectful but not very entertaining for thehungry crowd. He pirouetted around her chair, lightly touching her shoulders, and I believe he perhaps loosened his tie. Maybe he undid the top button of his shirt. Maybe.
Meanwhile, as Robb and I stood off to the side watching, waiting for our turn, I wondered how on earth Robb intended to handle this spotlight. Little did I know, he had taken off his belt and loosened his pants in preparation for the most public display of our marriage.
The crowd clapped and gave a few hoots to the young couple as they took their place at the side of the dance floor, the groom buttoning his shirt and fastening his tie. They were the picture of decorum. The host gestured grandly to us, pointing to the final contestants of the night. With the host’s introduction, Robb whispered to me, “No shame, no regrets,” and before I could question just what he meant, Robb swept me onto the dance floor and into the chair reserved for me. His eye contact was potent, palpable.
“Sir, do you love your wife?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, I love my wife.”
“How much do you love your wife?”
“José, you have no idea how much I love my wife. I will tell the world tonight.” The crowd cheered and whooped. I blushed.
“Have you ever danced for her?” (No, he hadn’t.)
“I’m about to. Gentlemen, let me show you how it’s done.”
The host stepped away as the music blared through the ballroom, and Robb tore his shirt off and threw it into the crowd. He thrust his
My husband was a very conservative, private man. He preferred to fly under the radar. He often added addenda to our conversations: “and don’t blog about this.” He preferred a low profile, and he loved anonymity. So perhaps you can imagine my surprise when he twirled me to the dance floor, grabbed the microphone, and launched us into the game. With the swagger of a confident man who owned the room, he trash-talked our competitors: “I’ve been married to this girl for ten years. Let me show you how it’s done.”
Well, here we go, then.
Our competitors were four other couples: one couple who had been dating for a few months, a couple celebrating their fifth anniversary, an engaged couple, and a bride and groom married roughly seventeenhours earlier. I had thought the game would be one of hidden questions and answers, a test on how well you know your partner. No, it was instead a series of provocative relays that required teamwork, erotic positions, and public displays of impropriety. One by one, couples were knocked out of the competition when they didn’t receive the loudest cheers from the crowd, and still we stayed on the floor. Finally, there were two couples left: us and the new bride and groom. He even wore a tie.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” the host announced into the microphone, “for our last round each of these gentlemen will have a chance to show his wife how much he loves her. Let’s bring a chair out onto the dance floor, please.” His glittery assistant brought a chair to the floor with grandiose flair. The newlyweds went first.
He seated his bride in the chair, and the host asked him, “Tell me, sir, do you love your wife?”
“Yes, I do.” Bless his heart, he was so nervous he was twisting his brand-new, shiny gold wedding band.
“How much do you love her?”
“Um, I love her a lot.”
“Have you ever danced for her?” The host taunted the young groom.
“Um, no.”
“Well, today is your day to show your wife—and everyone in this room—how much you love her. When the music starts, you have forty-five seconds to show her what you’ve got.”
The music blared, and he performed the most benign, prudish dance. Very precious and respectful but not very entertaining for thehungry crowd. He pirouetted around her chair, lightly touching her shoulders, and I believe he perhaps loosened his tie. Maybe he undid the top button of his shirt. Maybe.
Meanwhile, as Robb and I stood off to the side watching, waiting for our turn, I wondered how on earth Robb intended to handle this spotlight. Little did I know, he had taken off his belt and loosened his pants in preparation for the most public display of our marriage.
The crowd clapped and gave a few hoots to the young couple as they took their place at the side of the dance floor, the groom buttoning his shirt and fastening his tie. They were the picture of decorum. The host gestured grandly to us, pointing to the final contestants of the night. With the host’s introduction, Robb whispered to me, “No shame, no regrets,” and before I could question just what he meant, Robb swept me onto the dance floor and into the chair reserved for me. His eye contact was potent, palpable.
“Sir, do you love your wife?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, I love my wife.”
“How much do you love your wife?”
“José, you have no idea how much I love my wife. I will tell the world tonight.” The crowd cheered and whooped. I blushed.
“Have you ever danced for her?” (No, he hadn’t.)
“I’m about to. Gentlemen, let me show you how it’s done.”
The host stepped away as the music blared through the ballroom, and Robb tore his shirt off and threw it into the crowd. He thrust his
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