“You look like a student,” he says.

“Thanks, I think.”

“You want a drink? Tea?” He gestures to a small tray, a kettle, cups. “I have whiskey in the drawer.”

“Seriously?”

“Only for emergencies.”

“Student emergencies?”

“Academic emergencies.”

There is a pause, a stillness in the room. She realizes it is her turn to speak. “I’m here for Hannah,” she says.

“Ah,” he says, “right. And why is that?”

“I promised her I’d come.”

“Why?”

“Because she seems to think I can influence you.” Lissa looks away, down at her hands. “And I feel bad. I should never have said that thing, that day in the pub. About not doing IVF. I was wrong.”

“Really? But you seemed quite clear. You told me not to do it.”

“But I didn’t mean that.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I meant I wouldn’t do it. I only spoke for myself. Not you and Hannah—I didn’t think—”

“What? You didn’t think what? That you influence me?”

His gaze is steady. He does not flinch. “Please,” she says. “Please don’t say that. It’s not fair. I didn’t realize what I was saying. I didn’t think of Hannah.”

“You know,” Nathan says softly, “I have spent most of my adult life thinking of Hannah. Of what she wants. Of how to make her happy. And for most of my adult life, that was what I wanted to do.”

The curve of his cheek, the swell of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

“Why did you really come, Lissa?” he says.

“For Hannah. I told you.”

He nods, then, “Can I tell you something?” he says.

“Yes.”

“Can I lock the door before I do?”

She nods, watches him stand. Feels her heart, the pumping of her blood. His hands on the key. The sound of the lock. He comes and kneels in front of her. “Liss,” he says. “The thing is that lately I keep thinking of what you want. Of what might please you.” He reaches out and takes her hand. “Your hand’s cold,” he says.

“Yes,” she says.

He takes one of her fingers and puts it in his mouth. His mouth is warm. She can feel pleasure radiating from her fingertip, into her breasts, her crotch, the backs of her eyes. She closes her eyes, leans her head against the sofa.

“Can I do this?” he says.

“Yes,” she says, although it is hard to speak.

She keeps her eyes closed, and now his mouth is on her stomach, very light, and now he is unbuttoning her jeans and easing them down and she is lifting herself, helping him. And now his finger is inside her, and she hears a sound, quite low in the room, and then she realizes the sound is coming from her. And his thumb is rubbing her, and his finger is inside her, and the sound carries on.

“Can I do this?” he says.