A few days later, I realized I was not really avoiding Neil. At least, not in a way anyone could notice at a glance.
I still talked to him. I still frowned when he explained a problem like he was interrogating a criminal, and I still glared when he walked through the living room and casually pushed my book out of place. The house looked almost the same as before—so much the same that Cindy did not notice anything. Sometimes she even smiled and said the house felt livelier than it had when we first moved in.
But I knew it was not the same.
Before, when Neil leaned in to look at a problem, I would move toward the paper without thinking, closer to the pen in his hand. Now I pushed the notebook toward him and stayed where I was. Before, when he handed me something, I would take it and answe
