I tucked a small paper receipt from the boutique under my thigh and smoothed my skirt over it as he entered the room.
“Is there an electricity bill?” he asked, adjusting his collar.
“Yes,” I said, pulling out the white sheet of paper but holding the envelope flat on my lap. “It’s about the same as last month.”
He took the piece of paper, squinting at the numbers, then folded it and put it in his shirt pocket.
“We need to be careful with our spending this month,” he said, his gaze settling on my lap. “I saw a charge from some boutique on my bank app yesterday.”
I held my breath, waiting to see if he would ask me for the name on the receipt.
“Those were just gifts for the kids,” I said, looking at my hands.
“Okay,” he said, turning toward the kitchen. “Just make sure we don’t buy things we can’t afford.”
The paper receipt was hot under the fabric of my skirt. I waited until I heard the tap in the kitchen before I pulled it out and stuffed it deep into my old leather handbag.
In the afternoon, I went out onto the porch to sweep dried oak leaves off the steps. The air was cool, but the sun was bright enough to make me squint as I swept the corners with a broom.
Mrs. Gable, my neighbor across the street, leaned against the mailbox, watching a yellow school bus pass by. She was sixty-eight years old, had silver hair pulled back in a tight bun, and always wore a blue cardigan, even in the early autumn heat.
“You’re turning fifty next week, aren’t you, Elena?” she called, walking to the edge of my lawn.
“The twelfth,” I said, resting my hands on the broom handle.
“Do the kids take you anywhere cool?”
“They booked a table at The Gilded Lantern,” I said. “Jake insisted.”
She stopped and looked towards our front door.
“It’s a wonderful place,” she said, lowering her voice a little. “You should let them spoil you. You’ve spent twenty-five years putting others first.”
“Honestly, I’m a little nervous about this,” I said, looking at the wooden porch steps.
“Are you nervous about dinner?” she asked.
“I don’t want to make a fuss,” I said, lowering my voice. “Damon says it’s an expensive place, and I don’t want to look out of place.”
Mrs. Gable looked at me for a long moment, resting her hand on the wooden railing of my porch.
“A woman should shine on her birthday, Elena,” she said softly. “Don’t let anyone make you feel small in your own skin.”
She patted me on the shoulder, then turned and walked back to her house, her words hanging in the cool afternoon air.
I returned to the quiet house and climbed the stairs to our bedroom.
The green dress was still there, tucked away where Damon couldn’t see it while he searched for his clean socks.
I opened the closet door a crack and looked at the emerald fabric gleaming in the dim light of the closet.
Every comment he made over the past week seemed to settle into the room, heavy and cold.
Lipstick jokes, pearl remarks, credit card warning.
Of course, these were just his usual jokes, but as I counted them, my hands grew cold.
I reached out and tucked the dress deeper into the corner, behind the winter coats, where the shadows were deepest.
Then I closed the closet door, leaving the green dress hidden in the darkness.
The steam from the iron smelled of starch and hot metal. I ran the silver plate of the iron across the sleeve of Damon’s white shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles.
