June 7
I found it difficult to work next to Sarah without touching her, and without grinning like a fool. If our coworkers failed to notice that something had changed between us, it must surely have been from lack of observation.
Sarah and I arrived in separate cars, of course, in order to maintain appearances. But Sarah hadn’t brought a lunch that day, since I had nothing to eat in my fridge except milk and cheese, so I bought her a burger off the lunch truck. If anyone noticed, they didn’t comment.
After lunch, Nancy sidled up to Sarah’s desk. “Hey Sarah,” she said, in a stage whisper. “What’s with the turtleneck on such a warm day? You got a hickey or something?”
Sarah smiled. “I wish,” she replied. “I just didn’t make it to the dry cleaner last night.” How she said it without blushing, I can’t imagine.
I turned my face toward the wall as I winced. That morning, I’d asked Sarah about her turtleneck too, knowing I hadn’t given her a hickey. She’d confessed that she had an ugly bruise where her ex had pushed his forearm against her throat. She had another on her cheek where he’d slapped her, but she covered that one with makeup.
The bruises blossomed over the next few days, turning various colors more appropriate to flowers than skin, a regular reminder that all was not yet right in the world. But we went about our business as if no problems hung on the horizon. After work that first day, we met at the grocery store and negotiated our first joint food purchase. Sarah liked Sugar Smacks and cookies. I liked whole grains and avoided sugar. She liked beef and potatoes, I preferred chicken and broccoli.
At times, I wondered how two people so very different could ever live under the same roof. But we did. Each night, we’d go back to my apartment and cook dinner. Sometimes we took turns, and sometimes we’d cook together. That, I decided, was encouraging: if two people can cook together without killing each other, there’s nothing they can’t do. The repair shop took four days to replace the glass in Sarah’s car, and insurance covered the cost. She turned in her rental car and, from all outward appearances, had returned to the way things were before.
Except now she lived with me. At the end of our first week together, we went down to the bank and opened a joint checking account. On the way home, Sarah asked, “Would you like it if I made you lunch?” I gave her a quick glance, returning my gaze to the traffic ahead. “They’re going to know,” I said. “If we both show up at work eating the same kind of sandwich, they’re going to know we’re together.” Sarah thought about that for a moment. Then she said, “I don’t think I care.”
At times, I wondered how two people so very different could ever live under the same roof. But we did. Each night, we’d go back to my apartment and cook dinner. Sometimes we took turns, and sometimes we’d cook together. That, I decided, was encouraging: if two people can cook together without killing each other, there’s nothing they can’t do. The repair shop took four days to replace the glass in Sarah’s car, and insurance covered the cost. She turned in her rental car and, from all outward appearances, had returned to the way things were before.
Except now she lived with me. At the end of our first week together, we went down to the bank and opened a joint checking account. On the way home, Sarah asked, “Would you like it if I made you lunch?” I gave her a quick glance, returning my gaze to the traffic ahead. “They’re going to know,” I said. “If we both show up at work eating the same kind of sandwich, they’re going to know we’re together.” Sarah thought about that for a moment. Then she said, “I don’t think I care.”
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