The Unused Key

Nate came on Sunday with a folder, and I knew before he opened it that he had mistaken the problem for something he could finance.

I let him in anyway. He looked tired and very handsome, which was inconvenient. I had missed the shape of him in my doorway. I had missed the moment when he entered a room and looked first for me, before checking what needed doing.

Today he looked at the table.

“Would you like tea?” I asked.

“Yes. Thank you.”

We performed the small courtesies of people who had recently known how to touch each other without thinking. He took his usual chair. I put the mug beside him. The folder lay between us with its corners lined up against the edge of the table.

“I’ve been thinking about your freedom,” he said.

“Have you been thinking about yours?”

He paused. “A little.”

“Tell me that…