Jasna said she would stop eating meat on Monday. She made no speech. She had considered it for a long time and now wanted to try. Branko nodded and asked what that meant for Sunday lunch. They both laughed, but his question was not entirely a joke. For twenty-six years they had sat at the same table and served themselves from the same pot. Their grown children had moved out, giving that little custom a weight it had not carried before.
During the first week Branko brought everything he considered evidence against the decision to her place at the table. He did not insult her; he simply made every lunch a debate. Jasna asked him to stop. She said she was neither seeking permission nor planning to check what he ate at work. He replied that apparently they would now each live for themselves. Hearing his own sentence, he thought it sounded too large for a bowl of beans.
On Saturday they went to the market together. He stopped outside the butcher's, expecting her to continue. Jasna said she would wait by the flowers. She did not look disappointed. That confused him more than an argument would have. He bought less than usual, then found his wife talking to the flower seller about a plant she could never keep alive. She had a whole life of thoughts that required no decision from him.
At home he said he wanted to prepare his own part of lunch. Jasna showed him the smaller frying pan without remarking that he ought to know where it was. They worked beside each other, bumping into one another at the sink. Branko put too much salt on his potatoes. She offered some of hers and said they did not need two plans for a side dish. Only then did he admit her decision had reminded him of their children beginning to close their bedroom doors.
Jasna set down her spoon. She said she was not moving into another room; she was trying to eat in a way that suited her now. She asked whether there was anything he wanted to change but kept quiet about because they were used to their routine. He admitted wanting to swim on Saturday mornings. For years he had assumed she would be hurt if they skipped breakfast together. She laughed and said she could then sleep peacefully until nine.
The following Saturday he returned with wet hair and pastries. Jasna was still wearing her dressing gown. They prepared lunch later, using two small pots and making one salad. When they sat down, he reached across the table before picking up his fork. He had no new speech about their marriage. He simply wanted her to look at him. She gave him her hand, a little flour still clinging beside her ring.