The Riddle Between Us

Elena watched him across the restaurant table, Marcus with his graying **hair** falling over his eyes the way it had when she'd first met him two decades ago. He was currently picking **spinach** from his teeth with his tongue, completely unaware of her scrutiny. They'd come here to talk, though neither had said what needed saying.

'You're doing it again,' she said softly.

'Doing what?'

'That thing where you're **swimming** somewhere else. Mentally.' She swirled her wine. 'We haven't really touched each other in three months, Marcus.'

He set down his fork. The restaurant noise faded to a hum around them. 'I've been thinking about that **sphinx** riddle,' he said, apropos of nothing. 'What walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, three in the evening. We're at the three-legs part, El. Can't you feel it?'

She stared at him. 'You're comparing our marriage to a creature that eats people who fail its riddle.'

'I'm saying we're hobbling toward the end, supporting ourselves on whatever cane we can find.' His voice cracked. 'I thought the third part would be peaceful. But it's just… more questions.'

The waiter refilled their water glasses. Elena thought about the nights she'd lain awake beside him, their bodies curved away from each other like parentheses facing opposite directions. She thought about the way he looked at her sometimes, as if trying to solve something he'd memorized the answer to years ago.

'Maybe,' she said, reaching across the table to touch his wrist, 'the sphinx was wrong. Maybe the riddle isn't about legs at all.'

He covered her hand with his. 'Then what?'

'Maybe it's about who's holding you up when you can't stand anymore.'

Marcus's eyes filled with tears. The spinach forgotten, the wine abandoned, they sat there as the restaurant emptied, two people solving the only riddle that mattered: how to stay tender in a world that kept trying to harden them.