“No, Elizabeth. I wasn’t spying on them.”

“Did you say something to him? Did he know you were there?”

“No. I had nothing to say.”

“So you just sat there quietly watching him?”

“Actually, I was doing my own thing when he invaded my quiet—”

“You were spying on him.”

“No. Does it not bother you that he brought drugs into our home?” My intentional use of the plural possessive only agitates Elizabeth more.

“As if you never brought grass into the house, give me a break.”

“It’s not his house, Elizabeth.”

“What makes you so sure it wasn’t Jonah’s pot?”

“I can’t believe this,” I snap, and she shushes me, so I take a deep breath and lower my voice before asking, “Are you really protecting that boy, Elizabeth?”

“No. I’m just asking: How do you know?”

“Why are you so defensive of him?”

“Why are you so dismissive?”

“Because I don’t like the way he looks at you,” I say.

Elizabeth squints, tightens her lips and says, “Well I do,” then turns off the light and rolls over without saying good night.

6.

I hear white water rapids before opening my eyes, before realizing it’s only the shower, before realizing Elizabeth is in it. Her side of the bed is a knot of cold blankets. She never wakes up before I do. And didn’t she shower last night? And when did she get out of bed, anyway?

She’d want me to say good-bye, to shout that I love her, even if she’s shaving her legs or has shampoo in her eyes, but I’m not crazy about the way her vanishing acts outweigh mine these days, so I’ll reclaim balance where I can get it. I brush my teeth downstairs with a spare Sonicare, waiting for her to call my name, to wonder where I am for a change, but her water is still running upstairs when I’m done, so I exit without saying good-bye, flipping the switch to open our garage door—but something stops me from leaving. It’s an urge, and the urge is ridiculous, but my instincts are screaming, telling me no harm could come from putting distance between Nick and Elizabeth today. He ought to have the freedom to flirt with someone his own age, and she needs the space to snap out of it, whatever it is. I recall my offer to drop Nick at the beach before work. He’d said that sounded great.