Half-Sweet at Sunset

Chapter 3: The Sweet Half

For three days, Cal and I became polite.

We passed each other in the hall and said good morning. We shared the kitchen without sharing a conversation. He left the garage door unlocked when I was working late. I didn't ask whether he'd remembered or whether he'd been waiting to make sure I got inside.

The restraint was exhausting. It was also the first thing between us that felt honest.

On Thursday, June invited us to her sister's cookout. I said I had an edit due. June looked at me over her glasses.

"You can do both."

"I really can't."

"You can take your laptop."

"I'd rather finish."

"Then come for dessert."

I went for dessert. June had made a lemon cake and set it on the patio table beside a bowl of strawberries. Cal stood at the grill, flipping burgers while his cousin Mara argued with him about the music. The whole family seemed to know where to stand, what to carry, which stories to tell again.

I carried plates to the table and found myself beside Cal. He held out the tongs.

"Can you get these inside?"

"Sure."

"Thanks."

It was nothing. I was learning to let it be nothing.

After dinner, the adults gathered around the patio heater. Cal's aunt asked whether the apartment was still flooded. I told her the landlord had started repairs.

"Good thing you had the Ellis guest room," she said. "June always rescues people."

"I didn't rescue Nora," June called from her chair. "She's keeping the house from looking empty."

"I'm not sure my boxes are a decorating choice," I said.

They laughed. Cal did, too, but his laugh came a beat late. I watched him take the cake inside and leave the door open behind him.

The sun was setting past the inlet, turning the water the color of peach skin. For the first time since I'd moved in, the view didn't make me think of the days I might have with Cal. It was only a view. I could enjoy it without turning it into a sign.

I went inside to find a fork. Cal stood at the counter, cutting the cake into uneven slices.

"You want the bigger piece?" he asked.

"I want whichever piece you don't want."

He paused with the knife against the plate. "You always said you wanted the one with more frosting."

"I was twelve."

"You always took the outside edge."

"Because you scraped the frosting off the middle."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

For a second, something easy passed between us. Then he picked up the smaller slice and set it on a plate.

"You can have the bigger one."

"Thanks."

He took a piece for himself, frosting-heavy, just as he always had. I used to think it meant he remembered what I liked. Maybe he did. Remembering, I realized, wasn't the same as choosing.

He watched me carry my plate toward the door. "You're still going to move?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Monday, if the wiring checks out."

"And if it doesn't?"

"I'll find another place."

He set down the knife. "You make it sound easy."

"It's not easy. It's just mine to do."

He glanced at the window over the sink. Beyond it, the water had darkened. "I didn't want you to feel like I was keeping you here."

"Then you should be relieved."

"I am."

"Good."

He didn't sound relieved. I didn't ask why.

After dessert, June asked me to help her bring the folding chairs inside. Cal's cousin carried two at a time, nearly knocking into me.

"Watch your elbows," I said.

"Watch yours," she replied, laughing.

I carried one chair. Cal reached for it at the same time. Our hands touched the metal frame, then each other's fingers.

"I've got it," I said.

"I know."

He let go.

That night, I worked until one in the morning. At some point, Cal came down the hall and stopped outside the garage room. I heard his knuckles tap the door.

"Do you need something?" I asked.

"No. The light was on."

"It's a lamp."

"I know."

I waited.

"Your episode sounds good," he said.

"You listened?"

"I could hear it through the wall."

"That's not the same as listening."

"No," he said. "It isn't."

I turned back toward my laptop. "Good night, Cal."

"Night, Nora."

His steps moved away. I saved the edit and checked my email. The radio station had sent a note saying they wanted to discuss a longer contract once the episode went live. The work was small and uncertain. It was also mine.

I read the message twice, then wrote back to ask what the contract would include.

When I shut down the laptop, the cake sat on the desk in its paper plate. I took one bite. The frosting was too sweet. I ate it anyway.