The first changes

Everything felt so normal with the ring on. He noticed all of the little things, like the way it felt pressing into his finger with his hands on his truck's steering wheel, and he fell into his old habits, like the effortless motion of using his middle and pinky fingers to push the ring up to the webbing. If it wasn't such a mystery he'd have forgotten all about it.

He reached his best friend, Jimmy's house and smiled to himself, realizing that he's not going to have to stay here much longer. Three more paychecks. Just three more and he's out. For now, though, he had to stay here. It's not that Jimmy's place is awful or anything. It was a fine place to live and both Jimmy and his wife Chelsea were good to Curtis. He was sure that they genuinely liked having him around most of the time, since they didn't have kids. Still, he tried to be a good friend and give them their space. His bedroom was in the back, and he made sure to find a few places to spend some evenings to give them alone time. He tried to make it up to them by taking dinner shifts, and if his shift manager at KFC back in high school was right, he was a pretty decent cook. Tonight, though, was Chelsea's night to cook.

Walking in the door he was hit with a wall of scent. Spices toasting and sauces simmering, he knew immediately that he was in for a treat. Hell yeah, Chelsea was off work today. This meant that he and Jimmy would be spending a good hour on dishes tonight, but it was worth it.

"Hey Chelse, that smells great!" he shouted, kicking off his work shoes in the shoe rack neat-freak Jimmy insisted on. He walked toward the kitchen for easier communication over the cooking sounds.

"Thanks, it's a new recipe" she answered.

"Let's see if I can guess. What am I smelling... cinnamon?" he asked. But the warm cinnamon scent disappeared. He stopped just outside the kitchen, angled so that he could see Chelsea but not the stove. She was a pretty woman, and very tall. Her even brown hair was damp with sweat, just too short to be tied back. She was a doctor of some kind of medicine that Curtis could never pronounce. Some kind of brain surgeon, but she'd always rolled her eyes if he just said that, because apparently that wasn't specific enough.

"Nope, guess again."

"Cumin?" Again, the smell vanished as soon as he asked.

"Not at all."

"Okay, maybe I don't know the spices as well as I thought. It's definitely pork though, right?" But then the smell seemed to change entirely. "Wait, no, it isn't. Okay, I give up." He walked into the room to see the pasta roller out, and Chelsea standing over a pot filled with boiling water. He blinked in surprise. There's no way it was anything other than the sound and smell of searing meat a second ago.