A Different Season

Nate arrived in Chicago with a small bag, a book and a jar of screws he had forgotten to take out of his coat pocket.

“Contraband,” I said, meeting him at the station.

“In case the city comes loose.”

I kissed him before he could say anything else. He dropped his bag, caught me and laughed against my mouth, warm and real after two weeks of a voice through a phone.

The November visit had been four days. I had spent the first one trying to show him every good thing about my life away, as if I needed to prove the separation worthwhile. On the second evening he had asked whether we could simply buy groceries and go home. I had cried in the vegetable aisle and then bought too many potatoes.

This time I had planned one dinner and left the rest of the week open around work.…