That small window of time, those few hours around dawn, decided the flow of my entire day. When we weren’t together, I would wonder about where he was and what he was doing. I was always under his influence, whether I was half listening to Umma’s complaints and taking care of her or making up stuff to put in my cover letters for job applications. Even while walking down streets I’d walked thousands of times before, I felt I was in thrall to his spell. Wanting to see the world from his elevation, I walked on my toes and looked out through what I imagined were his eyes. My thoughts were full of things he might be interested in or what we might do together as a couple. I felt my sensitivity to the world around me heightening with the effort.

That was probably why I went into that Gap store I normally would’ve walked past. There was a sign for a two-for-one sale on T-shirts. I got the same T-shirt in XXL and XL and put them in my bag. I might have even smiled, imagining the T-shirt hanging from his smooth, cold back.

That night at his house, I took out the T-shirts from my bag and presented them to him. His expression immediately turned cold, and he stared at the two shirts that were the same in design but different in size and color.

—I can’t wear this.

—Oh. I guess wearing the same shirt might be a little too much. But maybe when we’re alone at home . . .

—There’s that, but it also has the American flag on it.

—What?

—Mr. Young, I do not wear clothes with this flag. Sometimes I think Mr. Young goes around wearing such symbols with no consideration of their meanings. Symbols such as the flags of warmongering countries. Do you really like America so much?

—Um, well, I mean, not really.

—Your music is all American.

—I like the divas. All gay guys do. What kind of a gay man isn’t into Britney or Beyoncé?

—Who?

—Jesus . . .

But he was already on about how everything about America and the “American Empire” made him uncomfortable.

—The “American Empire”?

—Yes. American imperialism.

Imperialism. I had literally not heard the word spoken out loud since high school. What was there to say to that? His determined expression short-circuited my brain, and I felt nothing but the weird shame of having committed some obscure faux pas, with the American flag sewn on my shirt and cap. Not that I was ashamed of my supposed political ignorance (I’ve never been ashamed of anything like that). My shame stemmed from a fear that he would get sick of my ignorance and mindlessness and cut me out of his life. I was obsessed with getting him to like me, and I stood ready to change my entire value system for him. We spent our first sexless night after that. We didn’t share a meal, our conversation was about nothing, and the distance between us refused to disappear.