An hour

The rain had stopped. She lay on her back and watched the ceiling fan not moving. “You cold?” he said. “No.” He put his arm behind his head. The room smelled like her perfume and the cigarette he hadn’t lit yet. She thought about her sister’s wedding, how her sister had cried, and whether she would ever stand in a white dress and mean it. She thought about the apartment lease, six months left, and whether he’d still be here when it ended. She thought about asking him what they were. She had asked before. It never went well.