Hesitation

My voice comes out quieter when I finally speak. "So you want to turn our living room into a strip club for a night."

I don't look at you yet. I just trace the seam of the couch cushion with my finger, buying myself a moment. "I mean... it's your home too. You can have your friends over. I want you to be there for your friend's bachelor party. But..."

I finally meet your eyes, and I can feel how vulnerable the question is. "Do you want her using the pole? Like... in front of you?"

Joe opens his mouth to reply. "yeah... we can't get our money back so it's either this or nothing. I was hoping you'd be okay with it because you also practice pole dancing. This is essentially just me critiquing someone else's form after watching you for so long"

I wrap my arms around my knees a little tighter, chewing on the inside of my lip. The way you said it, like you're asking permission, makes my chest feel tight in a way I can't quite name.

"Okay. So let me get this straight," I say, my voice quiet but steady. "You already paid for a stripper. The venue fell through. And now you're hoping I'll let her use my pole... in our living room... while you and your friends watch."

I let that sit for a moment. The TV's still murmuring, some cooking show I've never actually watched. My eyes drift to the pole again, that familiar curve of brass that I've gripped, climbed, spun around a hundred times. My pole. Our living room.

"You want me to be okay with another woman showing you what I do for you," I say slowly, "for money, in front of your boys."