“You’re not going to believe this,” she said, “but I miss the washing machine.”
He laughed. “That’s the most married thing you’ve ever said.” blonde wife
Lena had always been the kind of blonde that stopped traffic—not just because of the color, but because of the way she wore it. Sun-streaked, wild in summer, pinned into a tidy bun for parent-teacher conferences. She was the blonde wife, the one neighbors described as “that lively one,” the one whose laugh could peel paint or charm it back on. “You’re not going to believe this,” she said,