For three anniversaries she had worn black. Nice black. Safe black. The kind of dress nobody remembers after the appetizers.

This time she came out in red and did not ask if it was too much. She stood at the bedroom mirror a little longer with the necklace clasp, then walked into the restaurant like the decision had already been made without a committee.

The hostess noticed first. The waiter after that. A couple at the next table did the fake little glance people use when they want to look twice. Her husband kept fussing with the napkin, but his face had already answered. She sat down, crossed one ankle behind the other, and let the room catch up.