Hannah tugged the soft unwashed fleece over her head. They weren’t lying. It is pretty cozy.

“Hey look, I’m me before we met.” Hannah smiled and walked towards her husband. She waved her arms by her side, elbows tucked close to her body. “See? It’s the fleece I ordered the other day,” she said, matter of factly. Hannah watched as Ben sifted through his hippocampus, in an effort to retrieve any hints on the value of the sweater. Hannah noticed this about as soon as Ben gave up. He shrugged, eyes wide, willing to hear more.

“You remember! The one all my mom-friends have. The same one that Kelly girl, the one with a blog but really she’s an influencer, with the voice that you hate, has?”

“Yep, I got you. I know.” Ben laughed, nearly inaudibly, and without motivation. “It looks good, babe,” he said, genuinely. Soft, safe, and cozy. The fleece, too.

“I haven’t owned anything from that store since I worked there in high school.” Hannah’s eyes tracked back and forth, as she calculated the years silently. Flashes of nostalgia pierced her math. “Holy shit, that was almost two decades ago. Man. We’re old.”

“We? I’m pretty sure we didn’t go to the same high school...”

“Yeah, you’re right. Because you’re really old. Tell me how your math works. You graduated before I began high school and you’re not a dinosaur?”

He batted her hand. Her stomach flipped. She could envision him as a football player, like he was in school. She kissed him, with intention. Fleeting yet passionate. Her hand found his chest, landing too quickly and too heavily, as if she was both trying to get his attention and inflict momentary pain. It worked, no matter.

“Did I ever tell you about a guy named Trill?”

He shook his head. “I think I’d remember a name like that.”

She laughed, retrieving her hand and unconsciously using it to cover her heart. “I know, right? It was a nickname.”

“Oh yeah? You rolled with Trills?”

“Yup, I did. That was me, rolling around with Trill.” A beat passed. “No. Not true but actually,” her voice sounded only half present, the other part lost in 2004, “I was rolling during this story.”

“On Ecstasy?”

“Negative,” her pointer finger jutted out between them. She smirked. I never rolled during the day. “No. Rolling as in driving.”

He nodded. Makes sense.

“I was driving home from work and you know the hill at the bottom of Laker Lane, right before Duchess Street?” She paused in an effort to let him practice active listening.

Ben took the bait. “Yep, right by your parents’ house.”

“You know how it becomes standstill during rush hour? So I was driving,” her hand sloped downward, coasting an imaginary decline, “and it was just as the traffic slows before the red light. This car next to me kept accelerating and then dropping back to match my speed. It was so bizarre. I was really cute back then, super skinny. You know, back when I dabbled in cocaine and anorexia.”

Her eyes flashed as the memory flooded in. Ben watched, used to her uncanny ability to rope in fragmented memories, process, and vocalize them with emotions intact.

“I looked over and it was this guy who was probably...maybe 23?”

Ben shrugged good-naturedly.

“And he nearly got in to a car accident! He wasn’t paying attention to anything but me! Dude nearly crashed.” She laughed, shaking her head. “Isn’t that good?”

“I cannot say that has happened to me.”

“Because you probably weren’t as head turning as I was back then.”

“Back then? Now, too!” He smiled.

“There’s more.”

“Yeah?”

“How else would I know his name?”

“Ah, how Trill-y of me.” The two shared an eye-roll in a silent appreciation of the well placed and equally silly play on words.

“He followed me to my parents’ house. And when I went to park, he drove up next to my car. It’s a little creepy in hindsight.”

“Maybe should’ve been creepy in the foresight, too.”

Hannah laughed. “True. But it wasn’t. I even gave him my number! His opening line was did you see me almost crash? I mean, what a dope! And there I was, 18 years old and easily impressed by testosterone. But yeah, anyway, that happened when I was working at that clothing store, so maybe by wearing this,” she smoothed the fleece with her fingers, “I’ll be as young, dumb, and hot as I once was.” She joked, but her eyes hinted at longing. “So when I went to save his number in my ancient cell phone I asked what his name was, which is clearly a very normal thing to ask someone you plan to communicate with.”

“Absolutely. Agreed.”

“This guy said go ahead and save it as Trill. And when I repeated it back he goes, yeah it’s kind of a nickname my friends call me. Short for a trillion, like a trillion bucks.”

Ben laughed, hard and all at once. “Oh babe,” he said gently, bordering condescendingly, “please tell me you didn’t fuck this guy. I hope he had to try harder than that.”

“Relax. I did no such thing.”

She shifted her weight, foot to foot. “You think that’s why moms started wearing this brand again? To feel young? Carefree, no carseat in the back seat of the Pontiac droptop?”

Ben pulled Hannah in close. She melted in to him, her head dropping back, relaxed.

He kissed her neck and said, “Nah babe, the opposite. You’re much sexier now.” He stepped back, his gaze meeting hers. “And you wear that to be reminded of the trillion reasons you’d never go back. And perhaps to take it off?” He grinned. She nodded.

In addition to writing for content, Anna Engel is the author of numerous To Do lists, menu plans, and packing lists. As a stay-at-home mom and master of the trade, the inspiration for the above mentioned genres comes in abundance.