Wednesday Pt. 1

By the time Tuesday night rolled around, Mykel's depression of the following day's anniversary had set firmly.

Unlike he had the previous week, or even the previous night, when he came home he was devoid of any smile, any jovial moods, and to say he was laconic that night was to say he was talking too much. 

We heard him open the front door, Liz and I, engaged as we were in our nightly cooking lesson. We each gave pause, her mid-instruction, myself in mid-application, and we shared a glance at one another. 

We had earlier discussed our theories on how tonight was going to turn out. Liz had more of a hypothesis than I, being as how she'd been there each of the five years previous.

He came into the kitchen, as customary, and grabbed a drink before turning to Liz. 

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