The Riddle of Us

The spinach sat between Elena's teeth like a secret she wouldn't share. David watched it from across the dinner table, wondering if he should tell her, or if this too had become one of those things—like their dead cat, Mr. Whiskers, whose ashes still sat in the closet—that they simply didn't discuss anymore.

"You're staring," she said, not looking up from her wine.

"There's something in your teeth."

She wiped at it with her napkin, missing completely. He'd stopped correcting her years ago. She'd stopped asking if she looked good in that dress. They'd become a riddle without an answer, two statues posed like the sphinx they'd seen in Egypt—what was it, seven years ago? Eight?—enigmatic and increasingly silent.

"I ran into Marcus today," she said.

David's stomach did that thing it always did now—a slow, heavy roll, like a bear waking from hibernation. Marcus. The baseball teammate from college. The one she'd nearly left him for, once.

"Oh?"

"He's divorced."

She said it casually, the way someone mentions they're out of milk. But David heard the subtext loud and clear: he's available. The question hung between them, heavy and unsaid. The sphinx had spoken, but what was the riddle?

"How's his daughter?" David asked, instead of the hundred other questions.

"Starting college. Pre-med." Elena finally got the spinach. She examined it on her napkin, then flicked it away. "David?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever think about how we used to stay up talking until 3 AM? About everything?"

"Yeah."

"What happened?"

He looked at her—really looked at her, at the woman who'd once thrown a baseball with him from their third-story apartment window just to see if they could hit the dumpster below (they couldn't), who'd adopted that ugly cat because no one else would, who'd once stopped an entire dinner party to explain the sphinx paradox to confused guests.

"We grew up," he said. "And somewhere along the way, we forgot to keep growing together."

Elena's eyes filled with tears. She reached across the table and took his hand. Her palm was warm, familiar. Not quite a stranger's, but not quite home anymore either.

"I don't want to be a riddle anymore," she whispered.

"Then let's solve it," he said. "Whatever it is. Together."

The sphinx sat on the table between them, watching, waiting. But for the first time in years, they were finally asking the right questions.