Does he know about this chair?

The Chair arrived yesterday.

I don't know when Bob started asking for it. We've never had enough comfortable places to sit in our living room, and when we have visitors, someone inevitably ends up on the floor with pillows instead.

Last summer, Bob told me that if I'd just get a chair, he'd get rid of the TV. I knew this was a golden moment, so I jumped on it: I disconnected the cable, and the doorman toddled out of our apartment with our ancient Sony. So then we had a hole, like a gap tooth, awaiting the Chair.

The problem is, I don't have many opportunities to buy furniture, so I'm sort of perfectionistic about it. I took two trips to a store to look at chairs, one with Bob. Then I started looking for fabric. There was only one more color I could pull out of the rug that would look good in the room, and that was a dark, cool charcoal--no pattern. I wanted a velvety texture...just because. I went through every fabric book in the store, and started on other stores. I'd bring home the little swatches and put them on the floor, then turn them a quarter turn to see how they caught the light. I'd get busy and forget about them. The one I liked best only came in a 1" x 2" swatch, so I had to order a yard. It got backordered. My mother-in-law came up and didn't like it. My sister suggested other colors. Six months went by. Finally I ordered cool charcoal velvet anyway.

Bob, patient man that he is, didn't complain, but he would occasionally ask wistfully, "When is the chair coming?" It's the same plaintive tone he gets when I cook vegetarian too many nights in a row.

Last week I got the call: When could they deliver the chair? CZ and I looked at one another and said in unison, "Shh, don't tell Daddy!" Yesterday, the appointed day, the delivery window came and went. Finally I got a call from the delivery man: "I'm at__________. Where are you?" Someone had given him our old address on the East Side! We rescheduled for later in the afternoon. That window came and went. Our phone went out (it's been doing that lately). It was almost time for Bob to come home.

Finally, at six p.m., the buzzer rang. The delivery man, obviously happy to be at the end of his day, dropped the chair into place with a smile and whisked off the plastic. Voila! My cell phone rang. It was Bob wanting to know why he couldn't reach us on the house phone. CZ ran into the bedroom to muffle the delivery man's booming voice and disco cell phone, and made excuses for me.

Was it worth it? Less than an hour later, we watched Bob walk into the apartment, talking about something else. He turned the corner to put his backpack on the chair, saw that it was a different chair, and jumped back in exaggerated surprise. "Ah!" he gasped. "The Chair! It's here!"

So last night after dinner we all got our books and sat in our places: I in my spot on the side of the sofa next to the table, Bob in his green chair with the ottoman, and CZ in the new chair. (After all, she was the one who usually got stuck on the floor.)

And there was great rejoicing.