The Switch by the Coat Rack
He thinks he still gets the porch light. I've been flipping it myself since march and never told him.
the porch light switch is just inside the door, by the coat rack. for the eleven years we've lived here it was his job to flip it off last, after he locked the door behind whoever left last. mine was the stove and the dishwasher. that was the deal we made without really making it, back when we were dividing up a life for the first time.
i don't know exactly when he stopped. i just know that some night around march i noticed my hand was already on the switch when i went to check if he'd done it, and i haven't taken my hand off it since. he still locks the door. he still says night, love, like his half is done.
i tell my sister we split things fifty fifty, still, after all this time. i believe it while i'm saying it. it's only at the door, alone, flipping a switch that isn't mine, that i remember i'm the one keeping the count now, and i'm the one who decided not to say anything about it.
he's asleep already. i stand by the coat rack a second longer than the switch needs. then i go to bed too, and in the morning i'll tell him, like always, that he got the light.