Henry

When he got home from work, he could sense a shift immediately. There were candles lit. Fresh flowers in a vase. He smelled garlic, something baking in the oven. The table was elaborately set for two. A record was on.

Was this the right house?

Yes, there was his couch, lately his bed, but the blankets were folded nicely, draped over the back. The pillow gone. Not as he had left it.

“Henry?” Her voice so sweet, it was jarring.

He went to the bar cart and poured a whiskey, his growing collection impressive.

“Henry?” she called again from the kitchen.

He could hear her banging around, the sound of a spoon stirring a pot. A cork coming out of a wine bottle. Then she was in front of him. Dressed up, wearing the emerald drop earrings she bought after making her first sale a few weeks ago, a present to herself. Handing him a glass of wine, she asked him to sit. He had a drink in each hand. She was excited, he could tell. Why was she acting like this was how each day normally ended? He finished his drink and took a sip of wine.

“I have an announcement,” she said.

She looked like a memory of someone he used to know. But it was her. It had been so long since they’d even been home at the same time. He didn’t expect the swell of emotion that came with her attention.

She did most of the talking. There was big news: she had quit her job. No more late nights. But there was no need to panic. She had a plan. He hadn’t noticed the folder on the table. Then she was laying out letterhead, envelopes, notepads, business cards. She handed him one. There were simple hooked C’s in the upper corner as a logo.

Henry Calhoun

Architect, Partner

Calhoun + Calhoun

She explained that this was what she’d been working on so late every night. So hard. Wanting to surprise him. Wasn’t it perfect? As she made the excuses and said the words, it didn’t seem to matter that he knew it wasn’t true. Or at least wasn’t the whole story. He chose her side of things. To live this version of his life, the one in which he believed everything she said as the truth. Calhoun + Calhoun.

She spoke like he was supposed to already have known the plan was in the works, to make him feel as if he’d been included in the idea from the start. That this, the business card he held, was the manifestation of everything they’ve been dreaming of. She had her eye on a perfect little office smack in the middle of downtown. Lots of windows. Everything white. They’d take out a loan. Modest, for sure, but just what they’d need to launch the business.