"I used to imagine us sitting down for a drink at a bright little restaurant, maybe one of those specialty coffee shops that have become so popular. I swear I could smell the blended beans and the starch of the white napkins, even the milled soap that you would have used that morning. I was able to see your easy smile, which always seemed to startle its way across your face- your smile, but not your teeth-and the way your fingers tapped a light tattoo against the mug. I did not give us conversation: no You look great, no What have you been up to? no It has been hell. Like your teeth and the line of your jaw, this part was unclear to me. I was not sure if there was a protocol to follow when I welcomed back from hiding my other half"