“I miss seeing your eyes,” Rich said. He felt Edie’s smile.
“I miss going to the bathroom alone,” she said, “but I always slept on my side, so it’s a toss-up.”
Rich and Edie got up via their rehearsed rocking motion. They dressed, wriggling into a custom-tailored outfit. After breakfast, they boarded the bus. Only most people stared at them anymore. When they got into the elevator at work, its occupants exited in a huff of feigned politeness and disgust. After the incident, they’d kept Rich’s job over Edie’s once they’d recuperated. Being one person didn’t make the hard decisions any easier. They’d come up with a system: he’d do the logical thinking, and she’d cover the abstract. After work, Edie decided they’d walk home. They took the route that passed the park where they first met. Edie eyed the playground. Rich looked at the pond where they’d skipped stones as fresh college graduates.
“I miss actual sex,” Edie said. “I know the choice was life or sex, so I don’t regret it, but still…”
Rich folded their arms. A drake, duck, and scurry of ducklings skittered across the pond. “I want to separate,” he said.
“Divorce? That’ll be awkward.”
“No, I mean separate our skin and bones.”
They sat down under a billowing oak, flattening a patch of clovers, trying to find something to say.