It took long, strained moments after he opened his eyes for Bill to place the big unfamiliar bed, the strange slant of the sunlight from the tall, east-facing windows, the smell of fresh coffee brewing in the other room. He felt awkward dressing before he'd even had his first sip; in his own house, wouldn't he just stumble to the kitchen in his pajamas?

But this wasn't his home anymore, not really, and the woman in the other room wasn't his wife, and even a bathrobe felt too open, too intimate.


Laura was in the kitchen, dressed for work (or so he assumed) in a gray skirt and a crisp green shirt, her feet bare. He wondered if she was always so put together at this hour, or if the strangeness of their situation had put her off balance, too.

"Morning," he offered.

If her smile was a little forced, he told himself, so was his.

He didn't recognize the coffeemaker (was it hers, or had they bought it together?) but it was his favorite mug in the cabinet above. He held out the carafe towards the cup in Laura's hand.

She shook her head. "I drink tea."


Laura hovered as he made his way around the small, cozy kitchen, but What do I like for breakfast wasn't a question Bill was prepared to ask as an adult, so he pressed on, rummaging through a refrigerator stocked with unfamiliar brands until he found a carton of eggs and a package of bacon.

He glanced up to find Laura watching him carefully over the rim of her cup. "Is something wrong?"

She took a slow sip of her tea. "You're a vegetarian now."

He dropped the bacon, stricken.

Laura flashed a smile. "Kidding."


He ate mostly in silence, nodding occasionally as Laura talked: she'd taken the morning off, she'd already spoken to the head of his department about medical leave, the important thing was that he rest and relax.

He watched her, trying to find what it was about her that had made his past self change so much. Red hair, wild in the picture in the bedroom, neatly styled now. Green eyes behind simple frames, with shadows darkening beneath for which he guessed his accident carried the blame. Long pale legs tucked beneath the table, her knees not quite brushing his. She wasn't unattractive, clearly. She'd been nothing but helpful and supportive; a moment ago, she'd even made him laugh. But the quality he'd clearly been so taken by, the particular algorithm of traits for the sake of which he'd given up his beloved apartment, turned down the job of a lifetime…he couldn't see it at all.


"Is there anything you'd like to ask me?" Laura said at last.

Why don't I recognize my life? wasn't a question he was prepared to voice out loud.

He'd been in love with her once, on that day in the picture. He had to believe that. But this house, this life…had it really been his dream? Did he truly not ache for what he'd given up?

He cleared his throat. "How do you take your tea?"