“Tell me where you got it.”
“The new me, Brando? How do you feel about the new me?” Her foot started to tap against the floor, her arms crossed over her chest, and her eyes seemed even more dangerous. “Your silence answers my question,” she said, turning to grab the food from the counter. “Food’s ready. Unless you don’t want to eat it, since the new me cooked it.”
Dinner became a silent affair, but that didn’t mean my eyes didn’t take in every inch of her, every new behavior. She ate like she meant to enjoy it. She usually picked on fruit or protein. A certain eating pattern had been so ingrained in her that it made me worry at times for her physical and spiritual well-being. I usually had to encourage her to eat. Now her perfect lips were slurping up pasta like a pro.
She looked up and caught me looking. She sucked the noodle in and then licked her lips. “We have a thing to go to tonight.”
“I don’t remember a ‘thing.’ And tell me, who am I going with? My wife or you?”
“It’s some party that I was asked to attend. And I’m not sure. But you seem like the kind of man who can handle two women at once.”
I shrugged, smirked, and then took a sip of water.
She flung her fork down, rising so fast that if I blinked, I would have missed it. “Fine,” she said, more than a snapping bite to her tone. “Stay home.”
“Planned on it.”
An hour later, I still sat at the kitchen table, drinking water, thinking so hard that my head started to hurt, when she emerged in a tight gold dress that was only enhanced by her new mature look.
Hell.She was going to get me fuckingkilled.
“They won’t let you in wearing jeans!” she snapped at me when I went to follow her out.
“I go like this or you wait for me to change.”
“Go ahead, Brando,” she said, resigned. “I’ll wait.”
I made her wait in the bedroom. I knew what she’d do if I let her out of my sight. She’d try to leave without me and we’d make a scene when I threw her over my shoulder.
During the party, more men spoke to her than I cared to count. Most of them kept the conversation cordial, but the new her was like a magnet. If anything, it made her seem more like the underworld dancer she became during the night.
After a bit of socializing, she found me at a table, drinking whiskey. I had taken a seat at a table in front of the entertainment. Both guys were famous—I had heard their music before. One of them tinkled with the piano while the other prepared to sing. The crowd erupted into applause when the song began. It was slow, melancholy. It fed my mood.
She looked like an angel in the dress. The shimmering gold made her glow, enhancing the pink tinge of her cheeks. Her eyes were glued to the concert. She started to sway back and forth to the song. She closed her eyes sometime during, tears running down her cheeks.
The space started to push in on me too, so I reached over and took her hand. She didn’t resist, but she didn’t acknowledge me either.
After that night, it seemed that was how our time was spent, not resisting, but not acknowledging either. I became reflective, watching her, trying to get to know her. Mostly, I tried to make sense of her behavior.
The new way she leaned on her arm, eyes glowing from Chianti, while her fingers massaged her scalp.
The way she ate.
The way she seemed to smile at nothing in particular.
The way her eyes would light up when I assumed a thought that pleased her came to mind.
The way she would doodle odd designs.
The way she saidHoly Maryat something shocking.
She seemed to be floating, but not toward me.
I found myself watching her while she slept, which she did, all throughout the night. She didn’t even get up once, which was so unlike my wife. One particular night, when I couldn’t stand to close my eyes, she whispered in her sleep, “You look so much like him.”
This made sleep impossible, so I rummaged through our dresser, looking for…no clue. I did it anyway. All of our clothes were folded, put away neatly, but stuck under a pair of her lacy underwear I found a torn piece of paper with an address on it. Before she woke up, I stashed it in my bag to take with me.
She found me that morning staring in the mirror, only a towel wrapped around my waist. Her fingers traced the trails of droplets running down my back before she met my eyes. She placed a soft kiss on my shoulder.
