After eighteen years, Lucy and I were still deeply in love. We enjoyed each other’s company. We were an amazing team. We’d cook meals together, divide up the chores and keep the house clean together. When we played couples games with friends we’d always kick everyone else’s asses. We were amazing at doing anything together. Almost anything.

Our sex life was the one area that was lacking. The first six months of infatuation had been great, but after that, sex became a rare thing. It wasn’t enough to ruin our relationship, but it was often a gray cloud hanging over us.

It wasn’t a lack of desire. Even in her late forties, Lucy was beautiful, and I never let her forget it. She never complained about the way I looked, either. I was five years older, but kept myself in decent shape, mainly through running.

It was the sex itself. My eventual conclusion was that I wasn’t very good at it. I hadn’t had a ton of relationships before her, and in each of those, the same thing had happened, four to six months of infatuation, then nothing. The difference with Lucy was that we fell in love during those six months, and decided, without ever really talking it out, that that was enough.

After eighteen years, though, neither of us was so sure, any more. We still loved each other, but we missed what we didn’t have. We each felt like we weren’t giving the other what they needed. Not that we came out and said that. We were great at communicating with each other about anything—anything but sex.

I couldn’t understand what was wrong. I was always attentive to her needs in bed, and she to mine. But that didn’t help that much when neither of us could tell the other what we needed, or even figure it out for ourselves.

I thought that maybe the chain could be the solution to all our problems.

🔗

I heard it before I saw it. There was the clack of the mail slot, followed by the thump of junk mail hitting the floor, and then, a sort of metallic hissing noise. It sounded vaguely familiar, but it made me curious enough to go check the mail immediately, instead of waiting for the end of my work day, or just letting Lucy grab it when she got home.

It wasn’t in an envelope or any other sort of packaging. It was simply lying on top of the flyers for local businesses, offers for new credit cards, and the electric bill. I had no idea who would have slipped it through the slot, but I didn’t think too hard about it at the time. It didn’t seem that important.

It certainly didn’t look valuable— a two foot chain made of a silvery metal that didn’t look quite like silver.  Even if it were sterling, it wouldn’t be worth more than thirty or forty dollars. There was no pendant or medallion, only a bare chain. The links were a little larger than I’d expect from jewelry, and there was a clasp at either end. With the larger links, you could clip the clasps anywhere along its length.

I’m not sure why I paid as much attention to it as I did. Like I said, it was a little odd, but it wasn’t impressive. Maybe I sensed something special about it, even if I didn’t realize it at the time.

Since I was up from my workstation anyway, I decided to do laundry. I tossed the electric bill in Lucy’s pile (utilities were her domain), recycled the rest, and walked into the bedroom. I didn’t know what to do with the chain, but since I wanted to show it to Lucy later, and I had a tendency to forget things, I clasped it around my neck.

When I clicked the clasp in my right hand onto the clasp in my left, I felt a sharp burst of heat, or possibly cold. Not enough to do any damage, but startling enough that I yanked my hands away. I noticed that the chain didn’t hang down as far as I would have thought. I ran my fingers along it to feel if it was bunched up somewhere, but it wasn’t.

I moved the laundry that was already in the washer to the dryer, then refilled the washer. While I was in the laundry room, I did a little straightening. We also used the room for storage, and both of us had a tendency to just plop something down on the first available surface. We were running short of those, so I shifted things around on the shelves until I was able to find a place for everything.

I still had an hour or so before Lucy would get home, and she was in charge of dinner that night, so I went back to my desk to get some more work done. I was already ahead of schedule, but if I got a little further ahead, I could take a half day on Friday.

The chain was distracting. I was constantly aware of having something around my neck. My dad had worn a tie into the office for every work day of his life, but I had dodged that bullet, so the feeling was unusual for me. On top of that, I knew both my parents would have seen the chain as women’s jewelry and very much not approved. I’d escaped their home, but not their voices in my head.

I reached behind my neck for the clasps. I tried to release the one on the right, but my finger kept slipping off the little lever. I tried the one on the left with the same result. I rotated the clasps to the front so I could see what I was doing, but they were hidden by my chin.

I didn’t let that stop me. I opened up a video chat so that I could use my camera. I could see the clasps, but the levers still slipped away under my fingers. Frustrated, I tried to just lift the chain over my head. No joy. It was too small for that. 

I gave up. Lucy would need to take it off for me when she got home.

After a few minutes I was able to lose myself in my work. By the time I heard the front door open, I’d mostly forgotten about the chain. I saved my work, and left my office to greet Lucy.

“Nice necklace” she said.

Oh, right. The chain.

“It’s not a necklace,” I said. “It’s just a chain.”

“Still counts.”

I didn’t argue. Instead, I told her about finding it by the mailslot, and asked her to remove it for me. I turned my back to her and bent my knees a little, so she could easily reach it.

“Ow!” she exclaimed.

I turned to see her removing her fingers from her mouth and shaking them.

“It burned me,” she said.

I took her fingers and examined them.

“No marks,” I said, “I got the same thing when I clasped it. I forgot to mention that part. Sorry.”

She waved that off. “No harm done.”

I turned for her to try again. This time she didn’t exclaim.

“No burn?” I asked.

“Not this time. I still can’t get it, though.”

“Maybe try from the front?”

“I can’t see how that would make a difference, but sure.”

She walked in front of me and rotated the clasps to the front, much as I had. Instead of immediately trying again, she looked at my face.

“Honey, you don’t have to shave every day for me. That looks painful.”

It was, a little. I’d been getting pretty bad razor burn lately. I was used to that this time of year, though.

“It’s not just for you. I hate the stubble.”

When I was younger, I’d sometimes worn a beard. I hadn’t in the last few decades though. I didn’t like the way it looked, and I hated the way it felt when I was kissing.

“Are you ever going to grow a beard?”

I knew where this was going. There weren’t a lot of new conversations when you’ve been together for eighteen years.

“No, but—”

“Then just get rid of it permanently. A lot of—” she stopped mid-sentence.

I noticed two sensations at the same time. The chain felt not-quite-painfully hot, and so did my face.

“What the actual fuck?” Lucy said.

I reached up to feel my face at the same time she did. It was smooth like it hadn’t been since I was a young teen.