The next evening, I stood in front of the small mirror in the downstairs bathroom and put on a new lipstick I’d bought at the drugstore. It was Warm Berry, a lighter shade than the pale pink I’d been using since our wedding day.
I smoothed my apron with my hands, trying to judge whether the color was making my teeth appear yellow. Behind me in the hallway, a floorboard creaked.
“Is there a parade in town?” Damon asked, standing in the bathroom doorway.
He was holding a cup of black coffee in his hand and looking at his watch.
“I wanted to try something different for dinner next week,” I said, looking at the sink.
“You look like you’re going to a school dance,” he said, taking a sip from his mug. “You’re fifty, Elena, so I think we should leave the hair dye to the girls.”
He smiled to show he was joking, but his coffee mug clattered loudly against the tiled countertop as he set it down.
I took a piece of damp toilet paper and wiped the berry color from my lips until they were pale again. I threw the paper into the trash can without looking at it.
“You always take my jokes so seriously,” he said with a laugh as he entered the living room.
I stood for a long time, staring at my reflection in the dim bathroom light. I rubbed my hands over my thighs, feeling the rough cotton of my apron against my palms.
Thursday morning, the mailman left my monthly credit card statement on the porch. I sat at the dining room table with the envelope, sliding a silver butter knife under the seal to quietly open it.
The bill from Evelyn’s Dress Shop was at the bottom, one hundred and forty dollars, a significant departure from the utility bill and grocery bill. I heard the thud of Damon’s heavy boots descending the wooden stairs.
