“Does it taste familiar?”
He closed his eye.
“I don’t know.”
The disappointment entered his voice.
I reached for his hand.
“It can simply taste good.”
He nodded.
After dessert, the documentary lasted twelve minutes.
The lighthouse keeper had barely introduced the restoration project before Noah lost the thread.
He shifted on the couch.
“I can’t follow him.”
“We can turn it off.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
I stopped the film.
The room became quiet except for rain and Marlowe’s breathing.
Noah leaned against the cushions.
“What did we do when we didn’t watch television?”
“Listened to music. Read. Worked on plans. Argued about paint colors.”
“What color did I want?”
“Yellow.”
“For this apartment?”
“For the kitchen cabinets.”
“What color are they?”
“Gray.”
“Did you win?”
“I waited until you were away and painted them.”
Noah stared.
“You did not.”
“I did.”
