I stared at the ceiling too. “But I don’t want to become a man who checks the window every time you go outside.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“I also don’t want to pretend the last few weeks didn’t change something.”
“I know.”
That became the phrase of the night.
I know.
It was not a solution.
It was at least an honest place to begin.
The following morning felt awkward in the way only long marriages can make ordinary kitchens awkward. We both reached for the coffee at the same time, apologized, and then apologized for apologizing. Megan left for work without going into the garden, and I spent most of the day wondering whether she had stayed inside because she was embarrassed or because she thought that was what I wanted.
At lunch, she texted, I’m sorry I made you doubt yourself.
I read the message three times.
Then answered, Thank you.
Not romantic.
Not dramatic.
Useful.
That evening Megan stayed on the couch after changing clothes.
I asked whether she planned to go outside.
“No.”
“You don’t have to stop gardening.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
She looked toward me. “I’m embarrassed.”
“That makes sense.”
“I feel like if I go outside now, everything means something.”
“That feeling probably passes.”
She nodded.
We left it there.
The next day she went outside.
She wore denim shorts and a pale yellow strapless top, the same kind of clothes she had always worn. She paused at the back door and glanced toward me while I stood at the kitchen counter opening mail. I knew exactly what she was thinking.
“I am not commenting on your clothes,” I said.
“I didn’t ask.”
“You were about to.”
She smiled faintly.
“Maybe.”
“Wear whatever you want.”
Megan opened the door.
Then stopped again.
“Are you coming?”
“No.”
That surprised her.
I continued sorting mail.
“I need to know I can stay inside without feeling like I’m supposed to supervise my own backyard.”
She nodded slowly.
“That’s fair.”
Then she went outside alone.
I did not stand at the window.
That was harder than I wanted to admit.
For almost twenty minutes, I deliberately did boring things in the kitchen. I opened envelopes, wiped a countertop that was already clean, and reorganized a drawer containing enough batteries to survive a regional emergency. Eventually I carried two glasses of iced tea outside.
Logan’s deck was empty.
Megan was trimming a rose bush.
I handed her a glass.
“Thanks.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yes.”
We stood there quietly.
Then Logan’s back door opened.
My body tightened before my mind had time to decide anything.
Megan felt it.
She looked at me but said nothing.
Logan stepped onto his deck carrying a camera battery and looked toward us.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” I said.
Megan said hello too.
He walked to his car, retrieved a small case, and went back inside.
Nothing happened.
Megan exhaled.
I asked, “What?”
“That felt weird.”
“Why?”
“Because nothing happened.”
I almost laughed.
“That is apparently our current definition of success.”
She smiled.
“Could be worse.”
It could.
The following days were not magically comfortable. Sometimes Megan went outside and I wondered whether she noticed Logan’s door. Sometimes I heard movement next door and felt myself paying attention before realizing I was doing it. I did not punish myself for those reactions, but I tried not to turn them into behavior.
Megan did something similar.
She stopped pretending she did not notice when Logan was outside.
One evening she came inside and said, “He was on the deck.”
I looked up.
“Okay.”
“That’s it.”
“What do you want me to do with that information?”
She laughed quietly. “Nothing. I just don’t want to act like noticing him is some secret now.”
That mattered more than either of us expected.
A week later, Logan tested the boundary again.
It happened on Saturday while I replaced a warped deck board and Megan worked near the roses. Logan returned from a photography job around noon and spent twenty minutes carrying equipment inside. Eventually he walked toward the fence.
“Hey, Megan.”
She looked up.
“Hey.”
“How’s everything growing?”
“Pretty well.”
He leaned against the fence. “You’ve got that side looking better every week.”
“Thanks.”
I kept my attention on the screw I was driving into the board.
Then Logan said, “You look pretty good too.”
Silence.
My grip tightened.
I did not look up.
This was Megan’s line to manage.
She stood.
“Logan.”
“What?”
“I think we let this get too familiar.”
He gave a small laugh. “It was a compliment.”
“I know.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Nothing if it stays neighborly.”