“I need to ask,” he finally says, but then he stops. He takes a deep breath and licks his lips. My pulse jumps in my throat.
“I need to ask you…”
Suddenly, his face disappears. I can’t see his mouth anymore. I can’t see anything. The room is pitch-black.
Nikhil whispers a curse under his breath, and only then do I realize what’s happened.
The power’s gone out.
5
A bright light shines directly in my eyes. I blink, raising my hand to block it.
“Sorry,” Nikhil says, sweeping his phone away. My vision takes a few seconds to adjust, then slowly things come into focus.
The room is still dark, but the light from Nikhil’s phone helps. I can make out the table. The couch in the corner. And Nikhil. He’s standing. Facing away from me, inching toward the backyard.
“Where are you going?” I ask, pushing my chair back, following the source of the light.
“The generator,” Nikhil replies. “It’s in the back, but obviously it’s not working.” He breathes out a sigh. “Last time we had a power outage it turned on for five minutes, then crashed. It’s under warranty, and I had the guys come out, but they swore nothing was wrong with it. That it was just a fluke.” He slides the back door open.
I watch him a second, still confused. “If they couldn’t fix it, why do you think you can?” I call.
“And what would you suggest?” he says. “That we just sit here in the dark? With no AC. Or power. Or light. That we just let all the food in the fridge and freezer go bad? That we just give up? Without even trying to fix things?”
“No, I’m just saying…”
He forges ahead, his phone’s flashlight cutting a path through the drizzly dark.
I watch from the doorway, tempted to follow after him. To continue this conversation. To push back against his not-so-subtle statement about our marriage.
I wasn’t the one who first gave up on us. I wasn’t the one unwilling to fix things.
His shadowed form stops beside a large metal rectangle and he pops some door or latch open. He starts fiddling with something, and the more time I spend out here, standing in the doorframe, exposed to the elements, the more I understand his point. The lack of light is one thing, but this heat. It’s sweltering. Even though the sun is gone, the night is so thick. And heavy. It’s almost hard to breathe.
I’d forgotten how essential AC is down here. We absolutely need to get this thing up and running.
“Anything I can do to help?” I call out.
The tinkering, the scraping of metal against metal, comes to a stop. “No,” he says. “Not with this. But there’s an emergency preparedness box in the pantry. Should have a couple flashlights and maybe some candles. You want to grab those?”
“Sure,” I respond. I start to move in that direction, a little worried about how I’m going to navigate to the pantry in the dark, when the lights miraculously flick back on.
“Success,” Nikhil calls from outside, closing the metal latch with a satisfying click.
I fetch the box, bringing the whole thing to the table. I don’tknow what all we’ll end up needing, but it seems like a good idea to keep the emergency preparedness stuff within arm’s reach.
I’m arranging the items, pulling out a couple flashlights, walkie-talkies, and candles, when Nikhil comes back in, slamming the sliding door shut.
He pushes a hand through his rain-slicked hair, and I immediately wish to be plunged back into darkness. Because there is no earth on which it’s fair for Nikhil to emerge from the humid outdoors looking likethat.
While the dampness in the air has made my hair frizz and poof to twice its normal size, it’s only managed to make Nikhil’s better, bringing out his slight curls. The waves that swoop perfectly. Almost like those of a cartoon prince.
But he’s not boyish enough to be mistaken for one of those cartoons. At least not anymore. His skin’s gotten a bit more texture over the years, no longer baby smooth. And he wears his stubble longer now. It’s not quite a beard, but it’s almost there. A perfect shadow. My palm itches with the urge to rub my hand across it.
I’d always wanted him to grow a beard, but he never did. He’d said it would be too prickly and uncomfortable. For me. I’d never pushed him, but now I’m desperate to know if he was right. My cheeks burn imagining his mouth moving against mine, his stubble sliding against my skin. Would it be soft? Or scratchy? Would I hate it? Or like it too much?
Nikhil moves subtly, and the light catches his hair, showing the tiniest hints of gray shining through. At his temples. And along his jaw. I imagine he’ll only get more salt and pepper over the next decade, which is entirely unfair. It shouldn’t be possible for this man to continue to get better looking with time.
