Before Nigel, Winnie had only dated athletes, and a variety of them, too. There had been a rugby player, a tennis player, a quarterback, and a professional fisherman. Winnie had often wondered why she was attracted to Nigel, who wasn’t even remotely her type. She found him sexy because he assumed that he was her type. His confidence was so audacious, so misplaced on the dull features and short stature, that Winnie had been fascinated—and oddly enough, turned on. Their date had led to another the following night, and then another. Within a month Winnie had moved into Nigel’s apartment (it was closer to the city than hers), and in six short months they were engaged. And maybe he had been on a bender after his previous relationship, but here they were fifteen years later, living in Winnie’s dream house.

Even her friends bought into it now. Though they still occasionally made comments about Nigel’s lack of enthusiasm for their nice things. It was, Winnie thought, funny how they’d brag about their boats, and extravagant trips to Europe while Nigel’s face would look…bored. “Can’t you at least pretend to be interested?” she’d chide him after.

“They’re such phonies, Winnie. Isn’t it enough that I accept them as phonies? Can’t we call it a day with that?” She’d laughed, and then they’d made love. Nigel was clever and Winnie was beautiful. She’d cultivated the perfect life, but it couldn’t erase the past.

If it weren’t for the house, Nigel might have been happy. Rephrase that, Winnie thought: if it weren’t for the house, Nigel might be happy with her. He’d made jokes about it being cursed, but she knew he believed it. Her husband was superstitious, a gift from his mother, and he blamed the house for most of their troubles. No matter how much Nigel hated it, Winnie loved their house on Turlin Street. It had chosen them, in a way. It was a little rough around the edges—harder to love in some rooms than others—but it was a very good house. And, most importantly, her friends were jealous. A house on Greenlake! Why, that’s almost as good as a house on Lake Washington! They’d all said so, which had brought a deep flush of pleasure to Winnie. Of course, that was fifteen years ago, and most of them had three kids and houses on actual Lake Washington by now.

She stepped into the tub and closed her eyes as the water climbed over her shoulders. So much for getting Nigel in the mood. At least she could enjoy a hot bath on her anniversary.