Aunt In doesn’t reply to Pie’s photos before we wake up the next morning. Pie tosses the device back onto the side table and rolls over to face me, slinging an arm across my stomach. I freeze.

‘I guess I shouldn’t have worried before.’

‘About what?’ Pie covers with her hand and yawns.

‘About you pretending to be my wife.’

‘Oh.’ She pulls her arm away and sits up, resting her back on the headboard. Out the window, the sun is shining gently through half-formed clouds.

‘It’s already been a week.’ For a moment it hits me exactly how short a week is. Seven days. I’ve only known Pie for – for seven days –

and yet the closeness I feel with her seems to have always been there. Even at the start, when she didn’t want me around, when she could barely bring herself to touch me. There was something. ‘So, you don’t mind having me around, huh?’

‘What?’

‘Your phone call,’ I say, not bothering to pretend that we both don’t know I heard what she said. ‘You wanted a different partner.’

‘Kim –’ Pie’s face has been washed of all the hazy tiredness of having just woken up, she’s worrying her lip between her teeth. She opens , closes it. ‘That – wasn’t what you think it is.’

‘It wasn’t about you being disgusted that you had to live in such close quarters with a tom?’ Suddenly there’s an anger coursing through me, burning deep in my stomach and rising to flush my cheeks. But not just anger. Confusion too. Confusion and hurt and anger and weariness. They swirl thickly in my chest. When my voice leaves my mouth it feels larger, like I can’t contain the sound because it’s being replaced with all these emotions. For a moment, I want to close my eyes and when I open them I never see her again (no I don’t). For a moment I wish I’d never met her (no I don’t)

‘Kim.’ I didn’t realize I’d sat up, but now when I open my eyes I’m curled into myself, my face resting on my knees and Pie’s hand is rubbing up and down my back. I breathe in, trying to calm myself, focusing on the grounding sensation of Pie’s warmth beside me, her hand moving up and down. ‘Kim, I’m sorry.’

I raise my eyes to meet hers; she’s watching me closely. Her expression is almost afraid, almost painfully restrained, like she’s trying very hard to suppress something large and jagged. As I look at her I can feel everything bleeding out into the white sheets, leaving me with nothing. ‘It’s alright,’ I murmur. Pie shakes her head.

‘No. I hurt you. And confused you. And you deserve to know why but -’ her gaze burns through mine. Her skin is glowing in the sunlight. ‘I can’t tell you.’

‘Why not?’

‘Do you trust me?’ she asks. It’s been a week. A week of up and down, back and forth, confusion, lies, hesitancy, hurt,

‘Yes,’ I say.

‘Then don’t ask me to say,’ she says. Her hair wafts softly about her face, in her cotton pajamas she looks like the feeling you get when the sun comes out from behind a cloud. ‘Please.’

I breathe in. The air in the bedroom feels blue and heavy, filled with the secrets that hiding under Pie’s tongue. I breathe out. ‘Í won’t,’ I say.

Pie’s phone buzzes.

+

Pie answers the call, putting it on speakerphone and rests it on the table.

‘68, 73,’ says Aunt In’s voice, tinny and hollow through the small speakers, but audible. 'Thank you for the intel. I thought it would be better to call instead of text you so you can ask any questions you need to clarify. As you know, there will be a delivery made this Friday. We need you to follow the target and find out where he’s taking it, who it’s being given to. No intervention is necessary; this is purely observation. Of course, if the situation changes, I leave it in your hands to make any decisions. I doubt you’ll need it, but if backup is required text me these numbers: 1345 and we’ll have a group dispatched immediately. Any questions?’

Pie says, 'after we’ve gotten all the information, on Friday, should we return here or -’

'No, after your surveillance is complete you will come back to headquarters, and your assignment will be over. Anything else?’

'No,’ says Pie. There’s a click and Aunt In hangs up. I close my eyes and press my palms against them until swirls of colour tint the blackness. Pie is silent. Downstairs, there’s a knock at the door.

‘Hey there,’ says Puey, when I open the door and look out. He’s leaning against the doorframe. ‘I came for the goods.’

‘Oh. Oh! Right.’ For a moment, I’d forgotten anyone existed in the world except Pie. I nod and beckon him into the house. ‘Come through.’

‘I also came to invite you and Pie over for Top’s birthday. We’re having a party tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Fun!’ Pie appears at the head of the stairs. She joins us, greeting Puey warmly. ‘Is there a party theme?’

‘It’s a bit childish but the theme is ‘sleepover.’ We’re going to set up mattresses in the main room and watch movies and do all the typical sleepover things.’ Puey points at us with two of his perfectly manicured fingers. ‘Can I count you in?’

‘I think so,’ says Pie. She looks up at me. ‘We’ll be there, won’t we?’

I nod, and Puey beams at us.

‘Come over whenever, it isn’t really starting at a specific time but we’re eating dinner at seven so you might want to come earlier than that. Jane is coming, and a friend of Top’s that you haven’t met. Her name’s Nerd.’

‘What’s she like?’ asks Pie.

‘Short,’ says Puey.

+

Pie and I haven’t been living together long enough to really solidify a routine, but it still feels that way, loading into the car with a shopping list. It feels like a puzzle that hasn’t been taken off the shelf for a while. All the pieces are dusty, the edges a little bit ragged, a little worn, but they still slide together. They still become something beautiful. Again I’m left daydreaming what it would be like if we really were married, if we were just coming to the shops to buy food for the week. Only before now my wife – the person I was imagining – was a blurry outline. No recognizable facial features whatsoever, a void to be filled. Now she has Pie’s laugh.

Even coming home and having Pie make tea is far too familiar. We sit on the couch and watch re-runs of game shows and Pie calls the answer at the TV and I wonder what I’m going to do when I don’t wake up every morning with her beside me.

‘You’re being very quiet.’

‘Mm?’

Pie, lying on the floor in a patch of sunlight, is pointing at me lazily. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘Just… nothing.’ I smile. Coward. ‘The capital of Nigeria is Abuja.’

Pie glances at the television, the word Abuja is revealed in glittering letters. ‘Ok, ten points for you. But I’m still ahead.’ She smiles. I desperately want to kiss her, but I can’t move, so I just sit there. Useless. The day wears on.