Member-only story
Her Many Faces
He walks past the bedroom door and peers into the shadowy room, where his lover stands naked, lost and adrift in her reflection.
She stands straight, shoulders broad, waist narrow, her dark blonde hair an unruly tumble of curls down her back. Her body blocks his view of the mirror. He can’t see her front — only her back — but through some trick of geometry, his angle is just right to catch the reflection of her face over her shoulder.
She is appraising what is momentarily hidden from him. Her expression is neutral. No judgment, neither praise nor critique. Just presence. It is that face that captures him — usually so expressive, but now perfectly calm. So many versions of her, hidden behind that blank gaze. At first, he just sees the surface. She is focused, thinking. It’s the face she wears to work, the one he’s seen leaning toward her laptop, writing stories or paying bills.
Then he sees the face he woke to this morning — innocent and sleepy, fresh from dreams. The face of contentment before the day had the chance to intrude.
They are an older couple, but newly acquainted. Because of that, he has spent hours studying photos of her spanning her entire life — from childhood on. In a way, he has filled in the gaps of all those missed years. It feels, somehow, like he’s always known her.
