“When did you become wise?”
“I’ve always been wise. You just don’t respect me.”
“That’s probably it.”
“Call me if you need me.”
“I will.”
Darius attended the suit fitting.
He smiled while the tailor pinned fabric.
He answered questions about cuff length.
He looked at himself in a mirror wearing the suit he planned to marry Simone in.
The experience felt surreal.
The tailor smiled.
“Big day getting close.”
“Yeah.”
“Nervous?”
Darius looked at himself.
“More than I was yesterday.”
Sunday morning, he tried something small.
Simone stood in the kitchen cutting strawberries.
Darius opened the refrigerator.
“What do you want for dinner?”
“I don’t know.”
“Pizza?”
Simone kept cutting.
“Sure.”
“Pizza Hut?”
The knife stopped.
Not for long.
Less than a second.
But Darius saw it.
She resumed cutting.
“Why Pizza Hut?”
He shrugged.
“Haven’t had it in forever.”
“I don’t really like Pizza Hut.”
Darius stared at her.
“You order from them?”
Simone looked up.
“Sometimes.”
“Do you?”
“I mean, probably.”
Darius nodded.
“Interesting.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Why is that interesting?”
“It isn’t.”
“Darius.”
“What?”
“You’ve been acting weird since yesterday.”
He looked directly at her.
“So have you.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
Simone put down the knife.
“Stop saying nothing when you obviously mean something.”
For one second, Darius considered ending the game.
Then her phone buzzed on the counter.
Simone grabbed it instantly.
Too instantly.
She read something.
Locked the screen.
Darius watched.
“Who is it?”
“Jasmine.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yes.”
She picked up the strawberries and carried them toward the table.
Darius looked at the phone in her hand.
“Tell Jasmine I said hi.”
Simone did not respond.
That afternoon, Darius discovered another strange detail.
They shared a wireless plan.
Darius managed the account because it automatically paid from his checking account.
He logged in, not searching for Simone’s messages, which the account could not show anyway.
He wanted to see whether anything unusual appeared.
One number appeared repeatedly.
Hundreds of calls over four months.
Many lasted only a few minutes.
Some lasted nearly an hour.
Darius did not recognize it.
Almost every weekday, the number called during his work hours.
There were calls at seven in the morning.
Calls near midnight.
Calls on afternoons when Simone had told him she was meeting clients.
Darius wrote the number down.
Then stopped.
What was he doing?
He stared at the paper.
He suddenly felt like someone he did not recognize.
He had never monitored Simone.
Never checked her whereabouts.
Never searched her belongings.
He hated that one message had turned him into an investigator.
He threw the paper into the trash.
Ten minutes later, he retrieved it.
Monday arrived.
Darius went to work.
He barely accomplished anything.
At noon, his project manager asked whether he was sick.
“No.”
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean distracted.”