She thought about what she was doing. Not just the Annual Day — all of it. The teal yoga pants. The two months. The bench. The conversations about bridges and migratory birds and what systematic thinking was worth. The morning she had counted a room of women into a warm-up and felt, for the first time in two years, like someone who had a function in a room rather than a position in it.
She thought about Rajan, who had never seen her dance, who would have found the whole enterprise both entirely characteristic of her and entirely surprising, which was how he had always found her — predictable in her unpredictability, which he had said was the most interesting kind of person to be married to, and which she had said was an engineer's way of avoiding a compliment.
She went back inside. She looked at the teal yoga pants hanging on the chair. She said, aloud, to nobody in particular: "All right."
She went to sleep.
