A Silver Photo Frame on Our Porch Ended My Fifteen Year Blind Spot
“The meat is cooked perfectly, Anna,” I said, pointing my fork at the plate. “A dinner like this marks a clear transition point in our professional trajectory.”
“Thank you,” Anna said, holding the empty salad bowl. “A letter arrived today from the alumni relations office at the university.”
“The new compensation package represents a twenty percent bump in base salary,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Plus performance-based quarterly incentives. It solidifies our financial runway.”
“We should look at upgrading our household infrastructure,” I said, cutting another piece of meat. “Maybe trade in the Toyota Sienna. The dent in the side door is a bad look for executive parking.”
Anna stood still for three seconds, her fingers tightening around the rim of the bowl. She folded her hands over her apron, her silver wedding band glinting under the chandelier.
“Of course,” she said. “The car is getting older.”
The monthly gas bill sat on my nightstand, showing a charge of one hundred and forty dollars that seemed high for early autumn. I ignored it, focusing instead on the printed regional sales forecast.
Anna sat on the edge of the mattress, lifting a warm white sheet from the laundry basket and folding it into a tight, neat square.
“Do you ever think about the old campus labs, Jordan?” she asked. “The ones on the third floor of the science building.”
I turned the page of the report, my eyes scanning the column of projected revenue. “Hard to justify the nostalgia, Anna. We were living on instant noodles and hope.”
“It was a long time ago, Jordan, but I still remember how the lab smelled,” she said.
I let out a short laugh, not looking up from the paper. “That was another lifetime. We have real responsibilities now. The mortgage doesn’t pay itself.”
