Something Is Different

Jasmine blinked as snowflakes landed on her face. The wind grew stronger, threatening to sting her eyes and nose. She waved her hands in front of her face, making an odd sound. The snow was falling hard, swirling around her and already reaching her ankles. Standing there, she felt a wave of anxiety. What if the roads were worse than she thought? What if her old Pathfinder chose today to break down? She reminded herself she was lucky to leave at 2 PM. On other days, she worked until 4, and those extra hours could mean the difference between a tense drive and a manageable one. She tried to calm herself, thinking she would be fine. Her Nissan Pathfinder had four-wheel drive, even if it was twelve years old. She took care of it, but a nervous feeling lingered, a quiet reminder that things weren’t as under control as she wanted.

The first time she tried to start the engine, it only whirred and wouldn’t catch. “Something's not right,” she muttered to the steering wheel, or maybe just to herself. On the second try, it started without a problem. “Must’ve just been cold.”

As she drove toward the highway, she realized it looked just like October. Fall had slipped into her life quietly, almost unnoticed. The leaves were changing, turning from green to bright reds and oranges, and pumpkin-flavored treats were everywhere, but only for a short time. Coffees and smoothies in every shop boasted these special pumpkin drinks, here for a moment and then gone. Jasmine thought people wanted them more because they seemed rare, like a treat you had to grab before it disappeared. She wondered if that idea applied to people too—if things only felt special or exciting when they were new or temporary. Lately, change seemed to hover around her, reminding her that comfort could vanish quickly. She knew the pumpkin shortage was just a marketing trick. There was always pumpkin, but companies made it seem rare to sell more.

Many people had put out cornstalks or skeleton decorations, since Halloween was just two weeks away. She needed to buy candy; now that Stephen had moved her out of the city, they might get trick-or-treaters. She had planned to visit town hall to learn about Halloween events, but luckily, the town’s public-access cable channel had posted the information.

She was still intimidated by the local suburbanites. She noticed the local women dressed nicely for a grocery run. She wondered whether they were single or desperate stay-at-home homemakers. They wore full blowouts and chic pantsuits. Jasmine felt underdressed in her leggings and messy bun. She was the only woman she saw wear sneakers to the county fair. She felt a little like a hoodrat in her Adidas tracksuit. The feeling stayed with her longer than she’d expected—she found herself hesitating before errands, double-checking her reflection in the hallway mirror, then giving up and telling herself it shouldn’t matter. Still, she sometimes moved a little faster through parking lots, trying not to draw attention. She wished she could blend in, or at least not care so much, but each outing seemed to magnify how different she felt. As the days went by, she caught herself admiring the other women's confidence, wondering if she could ever slip into that comfort. A small voice inside urged her to try, but for now she mostly retreated into herself, watching and adjusting, unsure whether she wanted to fit in or be left alone.

As her drive wore on, she thought about Steven. They hadn’t spent much time together, and he didn’t seem to mind. She felt like the house took a lot out of him. He insisted on doing all the outside chores because he'd paid more for the home with the larger yard. The large Elm tree in the front left corner of the lot was really giving him a raking hassle. But maybe it wasn’t that?

They were in their forties now; this is when those chronic health problems start, when the habits of the first forty years kill you for the next forty or so. That's when the clunking started as she turned a corner just off the highway, about a mile from home—something in the front right side. The sound jolted her, a sharp reminder of how little control she had, not just over the car, but over everything else unraveling at the edges. Behind the wheel, she gripped tighter, anxiety spiking with every clunk and grind. Was this the moment the Pathfinder gave out for good? Or was it something worse, some omen threading itself through the day? For a wild second she imagined herself stranded and alone, Steven unreachable, the miles closing in as the snow pressed down harder outside. The thought of breaking down swept up another: she and Steven never seemed to fight about anything now. Their friends liked to complain that the couple never fought. Sometimes she wondered if that meant they weren't talking deeply enough, if something more serious waited below the surface, ignored. Maybe trouble was coming after all. She told herself they were blessed with agreement, but tonight even that certainty felt fragile, like the rattle in her car, easy to overlook until it became something you couldn’t ignore.

It clunked into the driveway, where Steven waited with what looked like iced teas for both of them. His face screwed up in pain and disdain at the clunking.

“Did you hit something?” he asked.

“No. It started when I got off the highway,” she said.

“Let’s hope that it’s just snow! Let it melt!” exclaimed Steven

She walked into a fantastic smell—quiche with ham and feta, as far as she could tell, maybe spinach. Sometimes he would put zucchini into his quiches. Just the smell got her excited; her stomach lurched. She suddenly gagged, almost getting sick.

“Wow!” she said. “That was really sudden. I love eggs; I'm not sure what's up with my stomach!”

“Maybe you should sit down, and I’ll get you a glass of water, Jaz.”

She sat down and sipped her water, watching the blizzard outside. It was getting dark, and she felt very tired. Her stomach felt unsettled and full. She realized she was bloated.

Steven came into the room and set down the quiche. He looked at her, concern in his eyes. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Jasmine hesitated, tracing the rim of her glass. The words caught in her throat, but she couldn't wait any longer. The truth pressed against her lips, urgent. Jasmine paused, running her finger around the rim of her glass. She wanted to speak, but the words stuck. Still, she knew she couldn’t wait. The truth felt urgent, impossible to hold back. Steven blinked, mouth parted in surprise, searching her face for answers. Jasmine held her breath, the moment between them suspended, fragile and electric.