Standard Husband Procedure

Adrian went perfectly still.

It was a brief kiss, more provocation than invitation. When I pulled back, he kept staring at my mouth.

"There," I said. "You can add that to your list of responsibilities."

He ran his tongue over his lower lip.

"Who said you could kiss me?"

"Would you like me to fill out a form?"

"Do it again and see what happens."

I smiled. Adrian had been making the mistake of challenging me since we were children. He never learned.

I put my beer on the nightstand, took his face in my hands, and kissed him again.

When I withdrew, his jaw was tight.

"Again."

"You're terrible at stopping me."

On the third kiss, he caught the back of my neck.

By the fourth, I was in his lap.

Adrian had steady hands and the sort of concentration I'd previously seen only when he was trying to beat me at chess. The difference was that this time, I didn't particularly need to win.

He lowered me to the bed with a gentleness at odds with his expression. The mattress dipped beneath him. I tugged at the collar of his pajama shirt, and he rested his forehead against mine.

Then he stopped.

"Jamie. Are you doing this to annoy me?"

"That's how it started."

His eyes searched mine.

I brushed my thumb over the corner of his mouth.

"Now I'm doing it because I want to. Do you?"

His answer was a kiss long enough to settle the question.

By morning, the beers sat forgotten on the nightstand.

At eight, Adrian stood in front of the mirror adjusting his tie. I watched from bed with a newfound respect for certain of his management skills.

"What time will you be home?" I asked.

His hands stopped.

"Don't use that voice."

"What voice?"

"That one."

I wanted him to pick up a cake from the bakery near his office. Apparently, however, I had just begged him to abandon his career and live on my affection.

"Never mind."

Adrian sighed, crossed to the bed, and kissed my face three times in quick succession.

"I'll try to get home early. Don't get used to it. This is standard procedure in a marriage."

"Is it required by the homeowners association?"

He collected his watch and left.

That evening, he brought the cake.

I hadn't asked.

I decided to attribute the coincidence to some sort of illegal surveillance system and ate two slices.

Over the next few months, I discovered that my husband could cook, folded clothes with offensive precision, and recognized the beginning of one of my migraines before I did.

I also discovered that he couldn't lose a video game without demanding a full investigation into the controller.

"It pulls to the left," he announced one evening.

We swapped controllers.

He lost again.

"The couch is at the wrong angle."

"Would you like to change houses?"

Adrian hit me with a cushion. I retaliated. We didn't play the next round until the following night.

I stopped carrying a charger to work because there was a spare in his desk. My T-shirts invaded his closet. He began leaving a glass of water on my side of the bed, claiming it was to stop me stealing his.

I started saving him the last cinnamon roll.

It didn't mean anything. My family saved food even for relatives we disliked.

One Friday, I went to his office to collect a folder I'd left in his car. His assistant, Nora, reached for the phone as soon as she saw me.

"You don't have to announce me," I said. "I'm only here to steal office supplies."

Her smile was suspiciously professional.

I found Adrian at the window, holding a lowball glass. Boston gleamed behind him. The whole arrangement was so attractive that it annoyed me.

"You could at least charge admission," I said.

"It's been nine hours since you saw me. Miss me already?"

I noticed a soda can in the trash. The glass contained cola.

"Sophie's getting our college friends together tonight. Want to come?"

"I'm busy."

"Okay."

I picked up my folder.

"Where?" he asked.

"Not sure yet. She's picking me up."

"Who's going?"

"People. It's a popular feature at parties."

He set down his glass.

"I might be able to rearrange a few things. Since you're so determined to have me there."

My phone rang. Sophie wanted to confirm the time and tell me she was bringing her cousin.

When I hung up, Adrian waited with one hand braced on his desk.

"Don't worry about it," I told him. "I'll go with them. You work."

At six thirty, I was home choosing a jacket when hurried footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Adrian appeared with his tie loose.

"Forgot a document."

I looked at his empty hands. Then at his study across the hall.

"Do you keep documents in my bedroom?"

"I don't need to explain my schedule."

"Perfect. Neither do I."

He examined my black shirt, the thin chain at my throat, and the boots beside the bed.

"You'll be cold."

"I'm taking a jacket."

"The green one looks better."

"The green one looks like a tent."

"It blocks the wind."

I put on the shorter jacket.

Adrian sat in the armchair as though he'd just lost an argument with the National Weather Service.

Outside, Sophie honked.

"See you later, husband."

He turned his face away.

I stepped out and shut the door.

Behind it came a high, prolonged, desperate scream.

I opened the door immediately.

Adrian sat looking at his phone.

"What?" he asked.

I checked under the bed.

No injured animals.

"Did you hear a noise?"

"I heard you opening the door."

I closed it again. Waited.

The scream resumed.

I turned the handle.

Silence.

My husband looked up with an air of profound offense.

"Jamie. Are you bored?"

I stared at that beautiful, fully grown, apparently haunted man.