The Half Moon

by Mary Beth Keane

Right and wrong were shades of meaning, not sides of a coin. Louise Erdrich, Love Medicine

But it turned out people didn’t want things to be nice, they wanted them to be familiar.

But middle age was looming and he could already see the headline that would arrive with it: that a person could be extraordinarily good at something and still fail at it.

He didn’t know how much he depended on her habits to set the pattern for his days until they were gone.

They’d been moving around each other without seeing one another lately, but that week she’d touched his arm as she passed behind him at the sink. She’d reached for him in her sleep and fitted her body around his. He thought things were getting better, but actually, all that time, she was saying goodbye.

She knew she sounded like the exact kind of wife she swore she’d never be, speaking to him like she was his boss, or his mother. Did she want to speak to her husband like he was a child? Of course not. But when a person dreams of partnering with someone for life, no one ever considers the fact that there’s no dependable way to communicate a thought except to say it.

Jess started to wonder if maybe it was possible to dance at the edge of a precipice and keep dancing for the rest of your life.