I pad downstairs and into the kitchen. To my surprise, there are signs of brunch preparations all over: a bowl of pancake batter resting on the counter; a bowl of washed berries beside it; a carton of eggs waiting by the stove.

I raise my voice. “Oliver?”

“In here.”

I go into the living room, and he and Sam are seated at the coffee table, a travel chess set on the coffee table between them. It must be left over from some camping holiday years ago—I remember us packing it, though not actually playing it. We were still a pretty new couple then: sex was usually more interesting than chess.

“Where’d you even find that?”

“Garage,” Oliver says, eyes on the board. “Sam’s kicking my ass.”

Oliver looks up, meets my eyes. If I’m expecting to see some recognition of last night, whether it’s apology or defensiveness or even camaraderie, I don’t find it. Instead I see something I don’t understand. He looks…nervous? It reminds me of that rabbit-in-headlights look he had two nights ago, when he came in late from work and so very tetchy.

“Are your brother and Dinah coming over?” I don’t remember making that plan, but they’re our usual brunch guests.

Oliver nods.

“For early New Year’s. Don’t you remember?”

I don’t, but my brain feels full of holes these days. I look out the window to where yesterday’s snow still lingers, thick across the lawn.

“I used to play chess with Grandpa,” Sam says. I look down at the chessboard and Oliver’s right: my nephew’s winning.

“You remember Jeff and Dinah, right, Sam?” I say. I figure they’ve met once or twice over the years. “And Josie, your…” I try to work out it out. “Cousin-in-law?”

Sam glances up.

“Cousin-in-law’s not a thing.”

“Sure it is,” I say. I don’t know why I feel compelled to insist. I guess given how depleted his family seems right now, some extra can’t hurt.

“There they are.” Oliver rises from the sofa as Sam says, “Checkmate,” but Oliver doesn’t even hear him. He’s got that weird look on his face again, marching towards the door even though Dinah hasn’t even parked the car yet.

What’s going on with him?

Hannah Feldman, a voice whispers, and I brush it away irritably. Oliver’s not like that and I know it.

Sam looks up at me.

“I win, right?”

“You win. Come on. Let’s say hi.”

Our guests trudge up through the carpet of new snow, and as they draw closer I see something in my brother-in-law’s eyes, something that flickers as he looks at Oliver and then at me.

Is this it; is this what Oliver’s on edge about? Have they argued? Jeff and he almost never argue.