The next evening, I stood in front of the small mirror in the downstairs bathroom and put on a new lipstick I’d bought at the drugstore. It was Warm Berry, a lighter shade than the pale pink I’d been using since our wedding day.
I smoothed my apron with my hands, trying to judge whether the color was making my teeth appear yellow. Behind me in the hallway, a floorboard creaked.
“Is there a parade in town?” Damon asked, standing in the bathroom doorway.
He was holding a cup of black coffee in his hand and looking at his watch.
“I wanted to try something different for dinner next week,” I said, looking at the sink.
“You look like you’re going to a school dance,” he said, taking a sip from his mug. “You’re fifty, Elena, so I think we should leave the hair dye to the girls.”
