On Saturday morning, I was in the kitchen washing my cereal bowl and glass while Zoe was in her bedroom (not that she slept there any more), the door closed. We hadn’t had sex that morning and had barely spoken. I had no idea what Zoe was doing in there, but was obviously curious.
Then the door opened and Zoe walked into the kitchen. She was dressed quite differently than she normally did, wearing a light blue jacket over a white tee-shirt and on her bottom half a navy blue pleated skirt that came down just above her knees. My eyes bulged. I hadn’t seen a girl wearing a skirt like that since the 1990s. On her feet Zoe wore a pair of pristine white sneakers and white cotton socks that came up to her knees.