“I believe they have,” Tupper said, loving how much she enjoyed the story.

She put down her pen. “Maybe we should collaborate.”

Tupper shot a nervous glance at the television. Man and wife were hugging and grinning happily on their new terrace, gazing out over the parking lot with its cracked blacktop and lone palm tree. Elizabeth had never involved him in her work. He put his sticky plate down on the coffee table and wiped his mouth with a blue-and-white checked napkin.

“But you never collaborate.” He stopped himself, careful not to dictate or predict too much.

Elizabeth picked a blueberry out from between her front teeth. “Why not?” she said. “Let’s try it.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Yes. Well.” Elizabeth had never been able to exchange compliments or pleasantries. Had she suggested they collaborate out of some nauseating marital urge to make her partner feel included? She certainly hoped not.

“Thank you,” Tupper said. “I think.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Come here.”

He got up and sat beside her on the narrow love seat. She took his wrists in her hands and squeezed them. She’d always liked his wrists. They were bony and long, almost canine. He reached up and smoothed down one of her thick, dark eyebrows. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his. When they were kids, learning to drive in Maine, he used to chase down rabbits just to please her, but he never ran over them.

“Your breath smells sweet,” she said.

He kissed her downturned lips and smoothed her other eyebrow. Why was he so anxious? Being together didn’t have to be difficult. The couple on TV wept happy tears and embraced. Maybe the miserable view from that ugly apartment was their frisson, their severed head. The phone rang again and Elizabeth jumped up to get it.

A set of second-grade twin girls with blotchy red rashes on their faces waited blearily on the bed in her office. Peaches paid no attention to them.

What had she done?

All week long she rehashed it. She’d kissed Stuart Little of the Blind Mice, something she’d wanted to do since she was nineteen years old. It was a great kiss, too, but now it was over. Now she could go back to being nurse, mom, wife.

But what if she was in love with him? What if he was in love with her? Maybe this wasn’t just a little crush. Maybe they were meant to be. Of course, she hadn’t seen or heard from him all week, so it was really fucking difficult to know.

“I have to pee,” one of the twins whined.

“Mommy will be here soon,” the other twin said.

The mother arrived, all in a fluster because she thought she’d have a twin-free day. “I hope it’s not contagious.”

“It’s very contagious,” Peaches assured her, and ushered them away.