He gets up earlier.
He drinks less.
Drives faster.
Reads more.
Has started exercising.
Holds his fork differently.
Laughs more easily.
Texts less.
He takes longer showers, and instead of just running a bar of soap over his entire body, he lathers up a washcloth now.
He shaves once every two days instead of four, and at the bathroom sink instead of in the shower.
Puts his shoes on immediately after dressing, not at the front door before leaving the house.
He flosses regularly, and she actually saw him plucking his eyebrows three days ago.
He hasn’t worn his favorite sleeping shirt—a faded U2 T-shirt from a concert they saw a decade ago at the United Center—in almost two weeks.
He does the dishes differently—instead of building an unwieldy tower in the drying rack, he sets the wet plates and glassware on towels that he’s spread across the countertop.
He drinks one cup of coffee with breakfast instead of two, and he makes it weaker than he used to, so weak in fact that she’s been making an effort to beat him down to the kitchen each morning to brew the coffee herself.
Lately, their family dinner conversations have centered around ideas, books, and articles Jason is reading, and Charlie’s studies, instead of a mundane recounting of the day’s events.
Speaking of Charlie, Jason is also different with their son.
More lenient, less paternal.
As if he’s forgotten how to be a father to a teenager.
He’s stopped staying up until two every morning watching Netflix on his
iPad.
He never calls her Dani anymore.
He wants her constantly, and it’s like their first time every time.
He looks at her with a smoldering intensity that reminds her of the way new lovers stare into each other’s eyes when there’s still so much mystery and uncharted territory to discover.
These thoughts, all these tiny realizations, accumulate in the back of her mind as Daniela stands in front of the mirror next to Jason.
It’s morning, and they’re getting ready for their respective days.
She’s brushing her teeth, he’s brushing his, and when he catches her staring at him, he gives a toothpaste-foamy grin and winks.
She wonders— Does he have cancer and isn’t telling me?
Is he taking a new antidepressant and isn’t telling me?
Lost his job and isn’t telling me?
A sick, hot feeling erupts in the pit of her stomach: is he having an affair with one of his students and it’s her that’s making him feel and act like this
brand-new man?
No. None of that feels right.
The thing is, nothing is obviously wrong.
On paper, they’re actually better. He’s paying her more attention than he ever has. They haven’t talked and laughed this much since the beginning of their relationship.
It’s just that he’s…different.
Different in a thousand tiny ways that might mean nothing and might mean everything.
Jason leans over and spits into the sink.
He turns off the faucet and steps around behind her and puts his hands on her hips and pushes up gently against her.
She watches his reflection in the mirror.
Thinking, What secrets are you keeping?
Wanting to say those words.
Those exact words.
But she keeps brushing, because what if the price tag on that answer is this amazing status quo?
He says, “I could just watch you do this all day.”
“Brush my teeth?” She garbles the words, the toothbrush still in her mouth.
“Uh-huh.” He kisses the back of her neck, and the shiver goes down her spine and into her knees, and for a split second it all falls away—the fear, the questions, the doubt.
He says, “Ryan Holder is giving a lecture tonight at six. You want to
come with me?”
Daniela leans over, spits, rinses.
“I’d love to, but I have a lesson at five thirty.”
“Then can I take you to dinner when I get home?”
“I’d love that.”
She turns around and kisses him.
He even kisses differently now.
Like it’s an event, every time.
As he starts to pull away, she says, “Hey.”
“Yeah?”
She should ask.
She should bring up all these things she’s noticed.
Throw it all down and clear the air.
Part of her wants to know so badly.
Part of her never wants to know.
And so she tells herself that now isn’t the time as she plays with his collar and fixes his hair and sends him off into the day with one last kiss.
