Cal wanted to go walking on Sunday. Tess wanted to stay under the blanket until lunch.
He was at her window looking at the sky as if it would support him.
“It's actually nice out.”
“Then you can look at it.”
“We could go to the hill. Not far.”
“You said that about the lake.”
“The lake wasn't far.”
“The part with you asking me to pedal was quite far.”
He smiled and came back to the sofa. Tess made room for him with one foot. He sat, then lifted the blanket off her knees and put some of it over his own.
“Now we can't go,” she said.
“For ten minutes.”
She looked at him.
“Then we'll decide,” he added.
“Better.”
They sat together. It had been more than a week since the supper of toast and biscuits. Cal had come over twice, once when Tess was so tired she fell asleep during a film. He hadn't needed to turn either evening into something impressive. She was beginning to trust the ordinary parts.
That morning he had brought bread and forgotten butter. Tess had bought butter and forgotten bread. Between them they had made breakfast without going out again.
Cal rested his hand on her knee. Tess covered it with hers.
“I want to ask you something,” he said.
She turned her head.
“Okay.”
He looked at the television, which wasn't on.
“Are we doing this properly?”
Tess waited. He looked back at her, impatient with himself.
“That sounded bad.”
“A bit.”
“I mean, I don't want to be seeing other people.”
Warmth spread through her before she could make an answer. She could have said she hadn't asked him not to. She could have looked surprised and let him explain another time.
“Neither do I,” she said.
He nodded.
“So we're not?” he asked.
“I'm not.”
“I'm not either.”
They looked at each other. Then Tess began to laugh, not because it was funny exactly, but because they had made such hard work of three small sentences.
Cal laughed too. He put his forehead against hers.
“Good,” he said.
“Yes.”
She kissed him. He slipped his hand under the back of her neck and kissed her again, longer. When they drew apart, Tess didn't move far away.
“I still don't want to go to the hill,” she said.
“All right.”
“You can go.”
He leaned back, looking at her. “I know.”
“I mean it this time. I'm tired. You want to walk. We could eat afterward.”
He thought about it, then nodded.
“Lunch. I'll be back about one.”
“One is good.”
Before he got up, Cal took his phone out.
“Picture?”
Tess pulled the blanket to her chin. “Like this?”
“Yes.”
He leaned beside her and held the phone out. In the first picture his face was too close to the edge. In the second Tess was laughing because he couldn't stretch his arm any farther. The third was blurred, but she liked it most.
He sent it to her while he put his shoes on.
Tess opened it after the door had closed. Her cheeks were warm, his head was close to hers, and the blanket made them look like they had built something together out of a sofa and a lazy morning.
She thought of sending it to Mara.
Mara would be glad. She would say Tess looked happy. Perhaps she would send a heart, or ask whether Cal had finally made himself useful. Tess wanted that old answer. She also wanted Mara to see she wasn't alone.
She held her thumb over the forwarding button.
Then she put the phone on the table.
She wanted to speak to Mara. She didn't know what to say yet.
Tess got up, opened the window and let the cool air into the room. On the kitchen counter were the bread bag, the butter and two used plates. She put the plates in the sink and sliced enough bread for lunch.
At one, Cal knocked with damp hair and a small paper bag.
“It rained,” he said.
Tess laughed and fetched him a towel.