In the beginning, she was attracted to this man. He was charming. He wore his hair in braids, all of them attached to his scalp, and she liked seeing the spaces between, the exposure of the scalp. His voice was loud. She enjoyed this too. In the beginning, they would stay up late, trying to push the limits of their time together—3:15 AM, 4:21 AM, 5:09 AM. Like teenagers. His mouth always moving toward her.

She would record the precise times of these early interactions, writing the hours and minutes into a blue gridded notebook. In the midst of this record keeping, this new man who would soon become her new husband would whisper the strangest things into Hominy’s waiting neck. Phrases that would force her to pause, to drop the pencil on her thighs, to laugh, mouth wide, bottom teeth exposed. Hominy would push his body away from her collarbone to begin her task anew: looking down at her left wrist, picking up the pencil from her exposed thighs, neatly writing down the hours, the minutes.

In the time since their civil ceremony, Hominy has stopped writing the details of their interactions. In the time since, her new husband has begun to frown. Not in a subtle way, but very deliberately. Frowning in the morning and in the afternoon. Often, he waits until Hominy looks up from her book or until she turns away from the sink where she’s been washing the wine glasses. As she moves toward him, catching his eye, there it appears, a frown.

His hair is no longer twisted together. His scalp is concealed and his hair is cut short, gray and uniform. In the time since, the new husband has begun to hide his hands. He wears plastic gloves to avoid germs and also to maintain their suppleness. He does not touch Hominy anymore without the cover of latex.

The new husband only removes the gloves to shower or to caress Hominy’s hair while she performs fellatio. Only then does he remove the right glove and the left, pressing his fingertips into her graying twists. His ungloved hand, the right hand, moves slowly through, flakes floating down onto the wooden floor and onto her brown shoulders. Hominy suffers from a dry scalp. Hominy’s new husband watches her tongue move, and on his most beautiful lips: a frown.

The home Hominy shares with the new husband is messy, objects and junk having accumulated. From her spot on the couch Hominy can see cleaning products, some clothing, a dark sock, and to the left: five stacked books, makeup brushes, lotion, a damp towel, the open window.