Catching Corners

He sits on the other side of the couch as I type, staring intently at a book he must have found in one of my months-and-still-not-unpacked boxes. Austen, an interesting choice.

He hasn’t turned a page in ten minutes. The corner of my eye catches the corner of his. I smile.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”

He turns the page. More staring. More typing. More corner-catching, this time his foot, my knee.
My turn. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”

We go on like this, I’m sure, for hours on end. I glance at the clock. It claims only thirty minutes have passed. I make a mental note to have it checked later. I try another approach:
“What would you like to do?”
“I don’t know, you?”
“Dunno. Whatever you’d like.”
“Whatever you like.”
“You’re the guest.”
“You’re the host.”

I’m suddenly nostalgic for the what-nothing game.

I want to ask him what’s going on. I want to ask him what he’s feeling. I want to ask him if he intended more in his visit than just … visiting.

I ask if he’s hungry.
“Sure. Dinner?”
“Sure.”