I was so exhausted from a demanding night shift at the store. I just threw myself in bed and hugged what I thought was my husband lying next to me in our dim bedroom. I woke up with a start in the dead of night when I realized the man beside me WASN’T MY HUSBAND but a TOTAL STRANGER.
My husband Christian and I have been married for five years now. Usually, we’re that annoying couple who can’t keep their hands off each other, but lately, these night shifts at the convenience store have been killing me.
Ten-hour shifts of dealing with drunk college kids and truckers hopping up on energy drinks isn’t exactly my dream job, but it helps pay the bills while Christian builds his car repair business.
When my shift ended at 3 a.m., I was running on autopilot. My feet ached, my head throbbed, and all I could think about was our foam mattress calling my name.
I barely remembered the drive home, though I’m pretty sure I had a fascinating conversation with a stop sign I mistook for a crossing guard.
The house was dark and quiet when I arrived. This was nothing unusual. I kicked off my shoes, leaving a trail of clothes from the door to our bedroom like a very tired, very confused Hansel and Gretel.
The streetlight filtering through our curtains cast just enough light for me to make out a figure under the covers. Perfect. Christian was already home and asleep! The thought made me smile.
I slipped under the covers, snuggling up against what I thought was my husband’s warm back. The familiar scent of our detergent mixed with something else. Maybe a new cologne?
I was too exhausted to think about it, though I did briefly wonder why his arm suddenly felt bulkier, almost like a thigh. Must be one of those things that happens during marriage! I reasoned in my sleep-deprived state.
“Baby,” I whispered, nuzzling closer. “You smell different tonight. Like discount whiskey and bad decisions. I like it.” I giggled, running my fingers through what I thought was Christian’s hair. “Very sexy. Very mysterious.”
The figure remained silent.
Feeling playful despite my exhaustion, I rubbed my leg against his, trying to be seductive. Instead of the usual smooth skin, I felt something different. Very different.
“Honey,” I mumbled, still running my leg against his, “when did your legs turn into an overgrown lawn? Did you join some kind of werewolf support group while I was at work? Because I’ve got to say, this whole sasquatch situation you’ve got going on down there is unexpected.”
Still no response.
“Playing hard to get, huh?” I murmured. “Well, two can play that game, Mr. Silent-and-Hairy-Bear. But first, let me tell you about this crazy customer who tried to pay for his slushy with fake money!”
Still no response.
“Wow, you’re really committed to this silent treatment,” I yawned, patting what I assumed was his shoulder. “That’s okay, honey. We can talk tomorrow about how your legs got so hairy and turned into Bigfoot’s cousin. I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.”
I drifted off to sleep. Then, in the dead of night, my phone buzzed with a text from… CHRISTIAN???
“Hey babe, I’m just leaving the bar with some friends. Be home in 5 minutes! Still awake?! 😜😘”
My brain took exactly three seconds to process this information. If Christian was at the bar, then WHO the hell was sleeping near me?
I scrambled backward so fast I nearly fell off the bed, taking half the sheets with me and wrapping myself up like a terrified burrito.
“Hey!” I shouted, my voice jumping three octaves. “Wake up! Unless you’re a very realistic dream, in which case, please disappear!”
The figure yawned and rolled over, revealing a face I’d never seen before in my life. A man with tousled dark hair and a scruffy beard blinked at me in confusion.
“WHAT THE HELL? WHO ARE YOU, AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY BED?!” I screamed, grabbing the nearest weapon I could find — a half-empty water bottle from my nightstand.
“I just rubbed your hairy legs! You can’t just lie there and pretend that didn’t happen!”
The stranger sat up, looking around the room with glassy eyes. “Why’re you yellin’ in my bedroom? What hairy legs?”
“Your bedroom? This is MY BEDROOM, you home invader!”
I uncapped the water bottle wiithout thinking and dumped it straight over his head. He sputtered, suddenly looking much more awake and much more confused.
“What the? This isn’t my room?” He blinked, water dripping down his face. “Where’s my Scandinavian lamp? And my collection of rubber ducks? And my life-size cardboard cutout of that shouty chef from TV?”
That’s when I heard the front door open.
“Babe?” Christian’s voice called out. “Why are all your clothes in the hallway? Did you try to make a clothing bridge to the bedroom again?”
He appeared in the doorway, and his smile instantly vanished. “RHEA?? What the hell is going on? Who is this guy? What’s he doing in our bedroom? On our bed? WITH YOU?”
“Christian, I can explain!” I held up my hands. “I just got home and—”
“What?” Christian’s face darkened as he stepped into the room. “Is this why you’ve been ‘too tired’ lately?”
“Honey, we have an intruder!” I grabbed my gown from the chair, wrapping it around myself. “I literally just found him here! I thought it was you. The room was dark and I—”
The stranger stood up, swaying slightly. “Hold on, hold on.” He squinted at the family photo on our wall. “That’s not my wedding picture. Those people aren’t even wearing dinosaur costumes.”
“Of course, it’s not your wedding picture!” I snapped. “This isn’t your house! And what kind of wedding has dinosaur costumes?”
“An awesome one!” he replied solemnly, still dripping water.
“I’m Max,” he continued, running his hands through his wet hair. “I just moved in next door yesterday. Number 42? The house with the plastic flamingo wearing a top hat?”
“We’re 24.” Christian crossed his arms. “The house with the garden gnome riding a motorcycle.”
“Ah!” Max nodded sagely. “That explains a lot actually. See, I was at this bar, and they had this amazing bourbon… and then they had more amazing bourbon… and then the bourbon started having bourbon…”
I couldn’t help it, and a giggle escaped my lips. Christian shot me a look, but I could see the corner of his mouth twitching.
“And I lost my keys,” Max continued, “but I saw this open window in the kitchen that looked exactly like mine, except apparently it wasn’t mine, unless someone stole my rubber ducks and the TV chef cutout while I was out.”
“Because they’re identical houses, buddy!” Christian finished, shaking his head.
“In my defense,” Max said, still dripping wet, “your throw pillows are very similar to mine. Though yours have fewer taco stains. Also, no one has ever compared my legs to an overgrown lawn before. I prefer to think of them as organically landscaped!”
By this point, I was doubled over laughing. The absurdity of the situation, the relief that it wasn’t something worse, and maybe a touch of sleep deprivation hysteria all hit at once.
“I can’t believe my wife cuddled with our drunk neighbor who climbed through our window,” Christian chuckled, the last of his anger melting away. “And apparently rubbed his hairy legs.”
“I can’t believe I’m still wet,” Max laughed. “My wife would laugh her butt off when she arrives tomorrow and hears about this!”
After we all calmed down, Christian sighed. “Look, man, it’s almost 4 a.m. You’re still drunk, and I’m not letting you try to break into any more houses tonight.”
“The couch is pretty comfortable,” I offered. “Though it doesn’t come with a complimentary Scandinavian lamp!”
“It’s better than jail,” Christian added with a grin. “Or trying to find your way back to the wrong house again.”
The next morning, I woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of laughter from our kitchen. I found Christian and Max sitting at our breakfast bar, sharing stories like old friends.
“So there I was,” Max was saying, “absolutely convinced that someone had redecorated my entire house while I was out.”
“While simultaneously replacing all your family photos with those of strangers!” Christian finished, sliding a cup of coffee my way.
“Your wife makes a very convincing stranger!” Max raised his mug. “Though I’m still waiting to hear how that slushy story ends.”
“Just wait until you hear how Christian and I met,” I said, settling onto a stool. “It involves a car repair gone wrong and a very angry pocket-sized attack dog.”
“Now that,” Max said, “is a story I need to hear!”
And just like that, our bizarre night turned into an even better morning and the start of an unexpected friendship.
