What He Wears
He wore them on a Thursday. She didn't know he'd had them made. She'd given him the sketch and thought — with the specific care she'd been taking not to think too far ahead about anything — that it might become a conversation, or a project, or nothing, or something. She came down to breakfast on Thursday morning and he was already in the kitchen — already dressed, his Thursday apparently beginning early, and she registered him in the way she registered him in shared spaces now: automatically, peripherally, with the specific quality of attention she was not going to examine too closely. Dark suit, the pale shirt she'd noticed before. She was making coffee and she looked at his cuffs, which were turned back, and then he pulled them forward and fastened them and she looked at the cufflinks.
- Writer
