“And that is?”

“We block,” Terese said.

Myron waited. Nothing. “That’s it?”

“You expected something deeper?”

“Maybe.”

“We block,” she said, “or we would never be able to get out of bed.”

“I love you,” he said again.

“I love you too. And so if I lose you, I will experience crippling pain. You get that, right?”

“I do.”

“If you want to experience love, then you have to be ready for pain. One doesn’t come without the other. If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t have to worry about losing you. If you want laughter, expect tears.”

“Makes sense,” Myron said. Then: “You know what?”

“Tell me.”

“You’re worth it.”

“That’s the point.”

Myron heard the key in the door. Win stepped into the room. Myron said his good-byes and hung up the phone.

“How is she?” Win asked.

“Concerned.”

“Let’s hit a pub, shall we? I’m famished.”

They started down toward Seven Dials. Matilda the Musical was playing at the Cambridge Theatre.

“I always wanted to see that,” Myron said.

“Pardon?”

“Matilda.”

“Now doesn’t seem the time.”

“I was joking.”

“Yes, I know. Your humor is your defense mechanism. It’s a very engaging personality quirk.” Win started to cross the street. “And the show is eh.”

“Wait, you saw it?”

Win kept walking.

“You saw a musical without me?”

“Here we are.”

“You hate musicals. I even had to drag you to see Rent.”

Win didn’t reply. Seven Dials was, per the name, seven roads converging clocklike, producing seven corners around a circle. There was a sundial column maybe three stories high in the middle of the circle. One corner housed the Cambridge Theatre. A small pub called the Crown was wedged on another. That was where Win entered now.

The Crown was old-school, complete with a polished bar and dark wood paneling and, despite having about three feet of throwing space, a dartboard. The place was cozy and cramped and packed with standing patrons. Win caught the barman’s eye. The bartender nodded, bodies parted, space cleared, and suddenly there were two stools open. Two pints of Fuller’s London Pride awaited them on beer coasters.

Win sat on one stool, Myron on the other. Win raised his stein. “Cheers, mate.”

They clinked mugs. Two minutes later, the barman threw down two orders of fish and chips. The smell made Myron’s stomach rumble with joy.

“I thought this place didn’t serve food,” Myron noted.

“It doesn’t.”

“You’re a beautiful man, Win.”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

They enjoyed the dinner and drinks. Whatever else Win had to say could wait. Somewhere along the way, they finished the fish and chips and ordered a second round. There was a rugby match on the television. Myron didn’t know much about rugby, but he still watched the screen.

“So our friend Fat Gandhi,” Win said. “He saw your documentary on ESPN?”

“Yes.” Myron turned toward him. “Have you seen it?”

“Of course.”

Dumb question.

“I’m curious, though,” Win said, “about your reaction.”

Myron shrugged into his beer mug. “I thought it was accurate enough.”