“Tonight,” said Annie. “Come on in, and I’ll make a start.”

“What’s on the menu?” Paul asked.

Annie held aloft one of the plastic baskets.

“Chicken in a basket,” she said.

“Whoa,” said Paul. “How could anyone refuse an invitation as retro as that.”

It seemed to Annie that the best way to tamp down the flame of an old memory was to re-create it with a new friend. She guessed—as she coated the drumsticks in their bright orange southern fried crumb—that Max was parked in a lay-by up in the village, waiting for Annie to call him and ask him to share the hamper with her for old times’ sake. The thought of him poised, phone in hand, gave her no malicious pleasure, but neither did it make her feel guilty. This is progress, she thought.

“I haven’t seen this in years,” said Paul, licking the sticky coating from his fingers. On the TV, Michael was being traumatized by a carton of Chinese noodles that had inexplicably turned into worms.

“But you eat dinner out of a fake basket on a regular basis?” said Annie.

“If it’s not in a basket, I won’t eat it,” said Paul.

“Ha! I’m glad you dropped by,” said Annie.

“Not as glad as I am,” said Paul. He stuffed another handful of fries into his mouth. “So, your ex is hell-bent on winning you back?”

“Until he realizes he’s fighting a lost cause,” said Annie. “The trouble is I’ve always given in, in the past. It’s like a child having a tantrum; if you give in, you set a precedent, and next time they’ll scream longer because they know eventually you’ll give in.”

“Sounds like you’ve raised the bar pretty high,” said Paul.

“Unintentionally, yes,” said Annie.

“Do you still love him?” asked Paul.

“No,” said Annie. “Not for a long time, not the way I should, anyway. I love him like a pet that shits on the carpet, but you clean it up and forgive it because you’re used to it and you haven’t got the heart to rehouse it.”

“Oh my God,” said Paul. “That is the worst description of love I have ever heard. That right there is why I’ve never married. No one’s ever going to reduce me to an analogy of an incontinent animal.”

Annie laughed. “He doesn’t like to lose. He’s got a big ego, but it’s easily dented.”

“What will you do?” asked Paul.

“I’ll keep doing what I’m doing,” said Annie.

“Sharing his romantic gestures with other men,” said Paul.

Annie smiled. “I can’t give him any reason to think there’s doubt on my part or hope on his.”

“It’s sort of sad, really,” said Paul.