"You keep saying weird things."
"System update."
"Subscription."
"Convenient."
Then you pretend they don't mean anything."
"Maybe you're finally paying attention."
She stopped.
"What is going on?"
For the first time, she looked genuinely worried.
I almost told her.
Every part of me wanted the relief.
Instead, I glanced at the wall calendar.
Two days.
"Not tonight."
"No."
"You don't get to behave like this and walk away."
That almost made me laugh.
Interesting.
Walking away was suddenly unacceptable.
"Talk to me."
I looked at her.
"Soon."
"What does that mean?"
"You'll understand."
She stared as though I had become a stranger.
Maybe I had.
That night she slept badly too.
I knew because she got up twice and checked her phone.
The following day, I started paying attention to something else.
How little Rachel knew about me.
Not because she was unintelligent.
Because she had stopped asking.
At dinner Friday, I tested it.
"What am I working on right now?"
Rachel looked up.
"What?"
"At work."
"What project?"
She frowned.
"The Apex account?"
"Finished two months ago."
"Oh."
I nodded.
"What did I tell you I wanted to do this fall?"
"Renovate the garage?"
"No."
"Buy a new camera?"
"That was last year."
She put down her fork.
"Why are you quizzing me?"
"I'm curious."
"Ethan, I don't remember every conversation."
"Apparently."
She sighed.
"What did you want to do?"
"The photography trip."
I had talked for six months about taking four days in western North Carolina to photograph autumn landscapes.
Nothing ambitious.
Just me, a camera, early mornings.
"Oh."
Rachel nodded.
"Right."
She did not remember.
Then, perhaps fifteen seconds later:
"The reservation tomorrow is definitely confirmed, right?"
I looked at her.
She noticed.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"So it is?"
"Yes."
She smiled.
Priorities.
Perfect.
That evening, our shared tablet lit on the counter.
A notification from Megan.
So has Mr. Perfect planned tomorrow already?
I did not touch the tablet.
Another notification.
What did you get him?
Then Rachel's reply appeared.
Nothing yet. I'll find something tomorrow.
I stared.
Our anniversary was the next day.
I had spent weeks remembering a watch she showed me seven months earlier.
Rachel had not yet bought anything.
I was not entitled to an expensive gift.
That was not the point.
The point was attention.
She expected evidence that I had paid attention while apparently planning to "find something" after breakfast.
The tablet lit again.
Megan:
You are terrible 😂
Rachel:
I know. He'll plan everything anyway.
There it was again.
I looked away.
The next morning, anniversary day, Rachel was cheerful.
Whatever concern she had developed about my behavior was losing its battle against anticipation.
She entered the bedroom holding her phone.