“It’s clearly notnothing,Nikhil. You’re hurt.”
“Just a sprain,” he’d said, forced cheer in his voice. “It’ll be fine tomorrow.”
“But how did this happen? Did you get it checked out? Do you need to take some time off or—”
“It’s fine,” he’d said again. “How was your day?” He’d smiled wider, even as his forehead glistened with sweat, the pain he was feeling so obvious. “That rule against perpetuities still giving you a hard time?”
It had hurt. We were supposed to share everything. We hadpromisedeach other that we would share everything. But I’d learned that day that there was a whole world inside his mind I couldn’t access. The way I shared things with him, the way I leaned on him, was something he wouldn’t reciprocate. No matter how much I pushed or prodded for more, there were walls I couldn’t climb over, until finally, I just stopped trying. I reach for the garlic bread, biting off a large chunk of it. What’s a safe subject to talk about? What’s something I could ask that would—
A loud, deep laugh breaks my train of thought.
Nikhil is shaking his head, a hand over his mouth. I stare at him incredulously and he lets out another chuckle.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” he says, though his lips twitch, proving him a liar. “It’s just…you still eat your toast like that?”
I pause, looking down at my hand. The garlic bread is upside down, the garlicky-buttery side facing the floor. As it should be.
“Like what? Therightway?” I respond.
He laughs again. “You are literally the only person who thinks that.”
I grin, shaking my head. “Then I’m the only person with common sense.” We’d talked about this once before. The first time I spent the night at his place, I think. He’d made breakfast in the morning and he’d laughed then too when he saw the way I’d eaten my toast, but my rationale makes perfect sense.
“The side with butter or jam or whatever has to face down so that more of it hits your tongue. That way you get the most flavor out of it. Otherwise, it’s just a waste.”
The right corner of his mouth tilts up. “A waste?”
“Yes. A waste. Why would you want to taste the dry, bland side first?”
He leans forward, his arms resting on the table. “But what if you have a lot on there? What if you put too much jelly? All of it would fall off.”
I huff. “Well, obviously I wouldn’t eat that kind of toast that way. Be serious.”
The slight tilt of his lips transforms into a full-blown grin. “I wouldn’t dare to be anything but serious about this.”
He takes a bite of his pasta, his smile muted, but still there, and for a moment, I’m pretty happy with how my new plan is working. We’re being pleasant. Amiable.
But then he strikes unexpectedly, throwing my earlier question back in my face. “So,” he says. “What have you been up to?”
Something icy and cold travels up my spine. The question feels so loaded. I hadn’t meant it to be that way when I’d asked it, but on the receiving end…I want to run. Retreat. Raise a white flag.
All of that would be better than giving him an honest answer.I’m trying to win back my ex. My wildest dreams for my career might finally be within reach. And you and this marriage are threatening all of it.
I sip my water, drawing out the moment for as long as possible. “Oh, you know,” I say lightly. “Same as usual.”
He stares. He’s waiting. Expecting me to say more. When I don’t, his eyes flicker. “And what is usual?” he asks.
I shrug, doing my best to hide my inner panic. I don’t know why this is getting to me. Why this simple question is burrowing under my skin. Making me sweat.
“Work,” I reply. I force a light laugh. “That probably sounds boring, but that’s what takes up most of my time.”
“Good,” he says. “That’s good.” He looks away, but a few seconds later his gaze returns to me. “And it’s going well?” he asks. “Work, I mean. Is it everything you wanted it to be?”
I can tell he tried really hard to make that question sound neutral, but a bitter undertone still snuck its way through. It raises my hackles. “Yes,” I snap. “It is.”
He nods, looking down at his food. His fork aggressively scrapes across the plate and I wince.