When Pammy slammed into the pickup truck looking like a hurricane had bowled her over, Roy noticed. Of course, it wasn’t the sort of thing one could really miss. She didn’t look angry, exactly. Roy knew what Angry Pammy looked like (hunched shoulders, sad eyes, crossed arms) and this wasn’t it. No, this was something different. Not necessarily something new (if he had an Encyclopedia of Pammy he was sure he’d have been able to find something like it in an entry somewhere in the back) but something out of the ordinary.

This impression was increased as she answered him in monosyllables. “Is it OK if Darryl and I go hit up the arcade?” “Sure.” That would have usually taken a whole argument all to itself—it was nice to see her being reasonable, but he’d had the whole reasoning prepared (Darryl was feeling down about missing last year’s shipping targets and Roy wanted something to get his spirits up—which had the major benefit of being true) and he was a little out of sorts at not actually getting the opportunity to put it into action.

Then there was “I might be home late.” “OK, Roy.” Where did that one come from? He almost asked himself “how do I get it again,” but something about the tone of her voice stopped him. Sure, he’d wanted to hear “OK, Roy” every time he’d said he was going to be out late for the last…oh, basically ever since she’d stopped coming out late with him, which was years now, but something in her voice told him she wasn’t really saying it because it was actually OK, you know? Or rather, it was OK (Pammy had told him again and again to believe her when she said something, so this was a good time to start) but it wasn’t OK for the reasons he wanted it to be OK. It wasn’t OK because he, Roy, could just go ahead and have the fun he wanted to have because that was cool. It was OK because of something going on in Pammy’s head that he wasn’t entirely up to speed on. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t take an OK when it came, but it worried him.

“You OK, Pammy?” “Yeah. Fine.” Alright, that was a dangerous one to accept at face value. But what was he supposed to do? Needle her about it? Then she’d be all “I’m not fine now because you wouldn’t leave things alone” and they’d be no better off than they were. Better to let whatever Pammy was working through get worked through. And hey, at least he was already going to the arcade. Maybe he could push that time up a little, get some wings with Darryl on the way, and Pammy could have the house to herself. After all, that was what she usually wanted, right? Some time and space to have her own thoughts? Maybe she’d paint or something. It had been a while since she painted.

Still, he thought, he owed her a little more than a night on her own. It didn’t feel like a night that called for heroic measures—he wasn’t going to call her mom and try to convince her to make a surprise visit or anything like that—but maybe something. Maybe he could get her a side of wings at the arcade place and bring them back with him. Not like a peace offering or anything—they weren’t at war, this wasn’t Angry Pammy—but like, a gesture of good will. Or maybe she’d prefer like jalapeño poppers or something. He’d figure it out. But that seemed like a good idea.

“You mind if I go a bit early? Darryl and I…” “Fine.” OK, now something was definitely weird. But…again, it seemed, he was in the situation where taking Pammy at her word was what she’d asked for and it got him what he wanted. But he upgraded the issue in his mind: maybe both wings and poppers. And maybe he’d swing by the grocery store and get those things she’d put on that list for him last week—toilet paper, yogurt, something else…yeah, that was a good idea. It would definitely put her in a better mood to have all that stuff.

He pulled into their driveway and jumped down, trudging towards the door. Pammy trailed after him and he turned to smile at her as he unlocked the front. “You have a good night, Pammy,” he said as he grabbed the list from the fridge and turned back out towards the truck. “Love ya.” He bent and kissed her cheek as he passed on the way out.

“Love you.”

And he was gone.