“So you’ve already talked to the Democratic Party there.”

She was definitely angry with him, but he had no idea why. “Just exploratory discussions, yes,” he said.

“Before you talked to me.”

George was startled. Their romance was only a month old. Did he already have to clear everything with Maria? He almost said that, but bit back the words and tried something softer. “Maybe I should have talked to you first, but it didn’t occur to me.” He poured the dressing over the salad and started to toss it.

“You know I just applied for a really good job in the State Department.”

“Of course.”

“I think you know I want to go all the way to the top.”

“And I bet you’ll do it.”

“Not with you, I won’t.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Senior State Department officials have to be nonpolitical. They must serve Democratic and Republican congressmen with equal diligence. If I’m known to be with a congressman I’ll never get a promotion. They will always say: ‘You can’t really trust Maria Summers, she sleeps with Congressman Jakes.’ They’d assume my loyalty was to you, not them.”

George had not thought of that. “I’m really sorry,” he said. “But what can I do?”

“How much does this relationship matter to you?” she said.

George thought her challenging words masked a plea. “Well,” he said, “it’s a little early to talk of marriage—”

“Early?” she said, getting angry. “I’m thirty-eight years old and you’re only my second lover. Did you think I was looking for a casual fling?”

“I was going to say,” he said patiently, “that if we do get married I assume we’ll have children and you’ll stay home and take care of them.”

Her face was flushed with outrage. “Oh, is that what you assume? Not only do you plan to prevent me getting any further promotions, you actually expect me to give up my career altogether!”

“Well, that’s what women usually do when they marry.”

“The hell it is! Wake up, George. I realize that your mother devoted herself from the age of sixteen exclusively to caring for you, but you were born in 1936, for Christ’s sake. We’re in the seventies now. Feminism has arrived. Work is no longer something a woman does merely to pass the time until some man condescends to make her his domestic slave.”

George was bewildered. This had come out of the blue. He had done something normal and reasonable, and she was spitting with rage. “I don’t know why you’re so goddamn ornery,” he said. “I haven’t ruined your career or made you a domestic slave, and I haven’t actually asked you to marry me.”

Her voice went quiet. “You asshole,” she said. “You total asshole.”

She left the room.

“Don’t go,” he said.

He heard the apartment door slam.

“Hell,” he said.

He smelled smoke. The steaks were burning. He turned off the heat under the pan. The meat was charred black, inedible. He tipped the steaks into the garbage bin.