It was the same, and yet it was different.
She could close her eyes and imagine a million of his little habits (in fact she had done just that over the years), the way he cleared his throat when he was upset (to get a hold on his temper, she imagined), how his fingers would pinch the bridge of his nose the days the kids could not, would not be placated.
The careful scrape of his razor under his jaw, once, twice, a third time. How he affixed his left cufflink before the right, put his right sock on before the left, that one last tug in front of the mirror to straighten his tie. His cologne, a comforting constant, no matter the time of day or occasion or year. In the weeks after they had separated, the familiar scent had mocked her as it lingered on their things, and sometimes she imagined it lingered on her very skin.
The night she could no longer bring his scent to mind, she had cried, hot tears soaking her pillow until exhaustion mercifully overtook her.
His hum of appreciation as he peeked under the lids of the dishes sitting on the stove, his sigh at the dinner table as he contemplated second and third helpings, his warm smile when she took the decision out of his hands and generously filled his plate.
The wordless lullaby he would sing while cradling their youngest in his arms, walking the same well-worn circle around their living room, towel draped over his shoulder. How he would come back to her in the darkness, still smelling faintly of baby spit-up, his breathing steady against the back of her neck, his arm heavy and warm around her.
His hands spanning her waist, fingers circling her navel, his lips dragging over familiar, conquered territory, stopping only to meet hers once more (and again, again, thirsty for her taste). Eventually, collapsed against each other, a thin sheen of sweat covering his skin, she would listen for his heartbeat. It greeted her as it always had - strong, steady, reassuring.
It was the same and it was different this time around, their impulses tempered by time and years of empty spaces stretching beside them.
But his eyes still spoke to her, just as they had in her memories and dreams. And she could still read his mood in the quirk of his eyebrow, in the way the corner of his mouth would turn.
And in his heartbeat, she still heard her name.
Advocate Anjali Awasthi
Health and Fitness
