“Well, it was an easy two credits and we both needed them for graduation. Happy?”

“See? I knew there was another motive,” I say, tapping myself on the back.

“Do you want to hear the story or not, Miss Know-It-All? Anyway, we came up with this idea for our final project to go up in a helicopter and take some aerial shots of the 405. His mom helped us charter the private chopper. Decker took photos during the day and I captured the same spot at night. And then we picked the best shots and framed them side by side—mine and his—so you could see the juxtaposition based on time of day. It was a cool little joint project. We both got an A on it and enough credits to get our diplomas. Did you not see that giant print of the 405 I have hanging above my mantel? That’s the project. Remind me to point it out the next time you come over.”

I pause over his use of the phrase the next time you come over. Even in this newfound friend zone, I’m not making it a habit to wind up at his place and look at his pseudo art collection.

“So let me get this straight,” I say, returning to the conversation. “The guy who hated heights and didn’t have artistic flair whatsoever went up in a helicopter for a photography project?”

“Yeah, and he flew to Vegas, too, for his bachelor party, no problem. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to use the bathroom while we’re in between innings still. Text me if you want anything from the concession stand.”

While I’m alone for the moment, I try to digest all I’ve heard. I know it seems like a small thing, but the Decker I knew, the one I was married to, would not have gone up in a helicopter. Sure, I can maybe see him taking an easy art class for a graduation credit, but Decker couldn’t stay on a hotel floor higher than the fourth, refused to zip-line when we were in Mexico, and made me pay extra for an aisle seat on our honeymoon flight to Paris just to make sure he wouldn’t have to look out the window. He told me they drove to Vegas, too. Maybe Brian’s memories of the bachelor party are a little foggy—Decker did say he was blackout drunk that whole weekend.

For as convinced as I am about Decker’s aversion to heights, I also know Brian doesn’t have a reason to lie about something as trivial as some dumb high school project. In fact, I believe Brian’s anecdote wholeheartedly, which makes this pesky, gnawing feeling in my stomach that much more annoying. When you’re married to someone, you know everything about them—it’s part of the bargain. You’re the one person who knows the other better than they know themselves. I’m embarrassed to think that maybe I had this whole heights thing wrong. Maybe it wasn’t a crippling fear the way I had thought it to be, but rather just a discomfort or a preference. Did he refuse to go rock climbing that time we vacationed in Colorado, or did I just not give him the option because I thought I knew what he’d say about it? I hate to spiral out, but it begs the question: What else did I not know or could have gotten wrong about the man that I was married to?