Our Contract of Distrust

-- 2 --

It's night-time. I'm sitting up in the guest bed, reading. I call it reading but I can't digest the words. I'm sure I've skimmed the same sentence a dozen times now.

My husband barges into the room.
I vaguely wonder whether we're meant to now sleep in the same bed.

He stares at me for a moment and then suddenly blurts, "How old are you?"

"23."

He laughs, a snort followed by an odd chuckle.

I want to ask him why he finds my age so humorous, yet I also don't wish to speak to him. I don't really know him.

"I thought you were 19, 20 maybe. Rather you barely look a woman." He finally says.

"Then it's likely I'll barely look a woman my entire life."

He tilts his head and takes a step closer, eyebrow twitching. "You won't even act insulted?"

"Would you prefer I did?"

"No."

"Then what's the problem?"

"You. You're the problem. Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Don't pretend you don't know."

"If my honesty offends you I apologise."

"Honesty." He snorts again. "Are you even capable of such a thing?"

"I'm rarely anything else."

"Do you not remember why you're here?"

"Vaguely." I reply. And it's the truth. I can't quite place the reason why it had to be him and it had to be now. Death. It had something to do with death. But how?

He laughs bitterly. "Vaguely." He repeats, "Here I am going insane and you say you 'vaguely' remember it. Ridiculous."

He paces across the floor, erratically stopping and starting.

After a pause I ask him, "How old are you?" I'm now somewhat curious. And it somewhat feels like the polite thing to do after being asked.

"22. 23 in... Less than 3 months."

"Really?"

"I can't tell whether you're surprised or not."

"I'm not really surprised, I didn't have an assumption after all. I've never been any good at guessing people's ages."

"And they haven't really made it any easier in recent years, I suppose."

"No, they certainly haven't."

There's another pause in conversation.

"You're my wife, right?"

I stare at him blankly wondering whether he actually expects an answer.

"Right?" He prompts.

"Yes."

"Then shouldn't you act like it?"

"Right."

Obviously my answer wasn't very convincing.

"Didn't they ever explain it to you?"

Didn't who? And explain what? I assume the truth must be a "No."

"Figures." He sighs and flops back into the reading chair.

"What should they explain to me?"

He glares at me. "I'm not going to mother you."

"Sure."