Arte swallowed, looking over her newest invention. She had been so absorbed in it, she hadn’t noticed when her wife had come up behind her. Slowly, Arte became aware of the taller woman leaning against the back of her chair.

“What’s this one do?” Monse asked.

“A dream recorder. I hope.”

“Yeah?” For some reason, Monse was always excited about Arte’s work. It was as if Monse didn’t know that there was the potential for something to go wrong. Arte would ask to try it here and Monse would agree without a second thought.

Arte knew she shouldn’t keep doing this, but it was so convenient. Yet, there was the thought that eventually Monse would take a step back. This was one of those times. Monse couldn’t possibly want to agree to participate with Arte in testing this. She had to want some privacy. “Well, I’ll find out.”

“You going to use it on yourself?”

Arte opened her mouth, then closed it. That would have been the most obvious answer. She would know best what she dreamed, if she remembered them. She hadn’t even been curious about her own dreams. “That makes the most sense.”

“Then can I see?”

Monse had no limitations, it seemed. Arte should have known better, all these years of marriage. “You want to see my dreams?”

“Of course I do. It’ll be filled with me and machines and nonsensical bullshit. Why wouldn’t I want to see that?”

Finally, Arte looked back at her. Monse grinned. It was infectious. “N-no judgments?”

“Of course not. It’s dreams. All the subconscious or unconscious stuff. But…” She leaned in, breathing against Arte’s cheek. “I could try to make them better dreams and see if we succeed.”

Arte shivered, nodding instinctively.

She hoped it would work.

She hoped the dream would be a good one.