Flabellina trilineata, he thought. Dendronotus albus, Tritonia festiva, Mexichromis amalguae. He saw each nudibranch as he named it. Thordisa bimaculata. You’re a homosexual. Aldisa cooperi. You can’t live that way. Melibe leonina. Faggot.

He dropped the coffee mug he was washing—Hudson’s coffee mug. It hit the edge of the sink and broke, the pieces clattering to the floor. Ben stared at them as the shadows crept closer, their mewling voices clawing at him.

The ringing of the phone came as a great relief. He lurched for the handset, grabbing it in his soapy hand and nearly dropping it. “Hello?” he said, his voice overly loud in the quiet kitchen.

“It’s Carol. I’m calling to see how things are going.”

“Carol,” Ben said. He repeated her name. “Carol.”

“Is something wrong?” his ex-wife asked. “You sound strange. And why do you keep saying my name?”

“Everything’s fine,” said Ben, ignoring the question. “I’m just washing up the breakfast dishes.”

“Hmm,” Carol replied. “So everything is okay with Caddie?”

Ben debated whether or not to lie. He wanted Carol to think he was capable of handling their daughter. At the same time, he knew she would simply ask Caddie the same question at some point, and she would be only too happy to inform her mother of his failings.

“You know how it is,” he said. “She’s a teenager.”

“You noticed that, did you?” said Carol. “The question really is, are the two of you getting along?”

“Getting along well?” Ben said. “Or getting along?”

“Just answer the question, Ben,” Carol said.

He found himself able to laugh at the familiar rejoinder. Carol, irritated, said, “I’d forgotten how passive–aggressive you are. I don’t miss that.”

“Did you ever love me?” Ben asked suddenly.

“What?” said Carol.

“Did you ever love me?” Ben repeated.

“Why would ...” Carol said. “Yes, of course I did. I married you, didn’t I?”

“But were we really in love?” asked Ben. “Were we in love, or did we just love one another?”

“Where is this coming from?” Carol said. “Ben, that was seventeen years ago. We were young. I don’t know if I even knew what love was then. I’m pretty sure you didn’t.”

“No,” Ben said. “I don’t think I did either.”

There was silence on the line as neither of them spoke. Ben could hear Carol breathing. He wondered what her face looked like.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said.

“You never hurt me, Ben,” said Carol. “Maybe you disappointed me, but you never hurt me. I think if you hurt anyone, it was yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were never really happy with me,” she answered. “I thought for a while I could make you happy. Maybe that’s even why I married you. Then I thought having a child would make you happy. But I don’t think any of it did.”