This isn't weird.

Unfortunate Timing

Noah was so certain that he was never going to fall asleep, it came as quite a shock when he suddenly found himself in the act of waking up. He didn't feel rested by any stretch of the imagination—his dreams, already forgotten, had left a bitter taste in his mouth—but his headache was mostly gone, and the quietly apocalyptic feeling in his chest had more or less receded back to his baseline level of general ennui. For a moment, he considered rolling over and trying for another hour or two of sleep, but he was stiff and thirsty, craving coffee, and experiencing an odd impulse to seek out his wife. Still feeling the sting of her earlier rejection, he needed to know if that indifference still persisted now that the initial novelty of mother-daughter reunions had had time to taper off.

Why did he suddenly want Rebecca's attention after all these years of fending it off? He could only come up with one plausible explanation. Despite the fact that he didn't want her, a surprising portion of his self-esteem apparently hinged on the envy of the countless other men who did. If he wasn't the object of Rebecca's desire, he was no better than those jealous onlookers. There was no shortage of other women clamoring for his consideration, of course. He thought of the book tour, the women who had hung on his every word, bit their lips and fluttered their eyelashes, bending over to watch him inscribe their copies until their plunging blouses seemed to forget their own function. Some were quite brazen in their flirtations, shameless in their disregard for his marital status, shocking him with the explicitness of their invitations. But that was different. Shallow. He wasn't a real person to them, and if he ever became so, they would be sorely disappointed. Rebecca knew what he really was, had weathered the worst of him and still pleaded for his companionship—loved him, even, or so she claimed. That was the true measure of his desirability. The idea of being unwanted by her was a blow to his ego he hadn't been prepared to experience. It was utterly pathetic to go seeking out her attention now, but here he was, climbing out of bed and dressing himself in a sweater he knew brought out his eyes.

The house was quiet as he stepped into the hall, quieter still as he padded down the stairs. He wandered to the kitchen without encountering any signs of life—no Rebecca, no Rufus, no daughters. Had they gone out? Perhaps they were taking naps of their own. He was too embarrassed to call out, so he simply set to work filling the kettle and grinding coffee beans to meticulous perfection, hoping the noise might draw someone's attention. By the time he was pouring himself a cup, there was still only silence.

Until he took a seat at the table and his first sip was interrupted by the abrupt sonor of the doorbell resounding through the silent house.

Surprised, and vaguely put upon, Noah placed his mug down on the table and headed to the foyer. It was to his perpetual frustration that Rebecca consistently rejected his repeated suggestions to mount a no soliciting sign on their door, insisting time and time again that it would be unsightly; he loathed unexpected callers. Unfortunately, it seemed there was no one else available to deal with the present intrusion, and the last thing he wanted was for repeated ringing to resummon his headache.

When first he pulled open the door, he was confused as to why Rufus would feel the need to use the bell—his cousin had been given his own key years ago—but he was infinitely more confused to realize that the person standing in front of him wasn't Rufus at all.

"Um. Hi," said the stranger.

Except he wasn't a stranger at all.

The only response Noah could muster was an open mouthed stare, so the visitor cleared his throat and pasted on an awkward smile. "I'm Ben—" he started.

"I know," Noah interrupted tersely. "We've met before."

"We have?" Ben asked, at once growing flustered. "I'm sorry, I don't remember—"