Falling in love, and so deeply this time—so violently, actually, and disruptive and consuming—wasn’t part of my plan. Once it happened, though, against my wishes, against my will, the cravings kicked in something awful. I tried forcing Elizabeth out of my system by overindulging, hoping to get sick of her so I could spare Vanessa all that pain, but indulgence only got me hooked.

Stuart kicked Elizabeth out as soon as he discovered that she’d been spending afternoons with me and not at the library, that she’d been napping in hotel rooms on my dime. She could have completed her program but couldn’t bear the humiliation of facing her colleagues, who sided with Stuart. Besides, she’d have needed at least another year to finish writing her dissertation. In her revisionist memory, Elizabeth now measures that year as “so close,” but I saw how desperate she was. Maybe she could’ve toughed it out if she’d had no choice, but she had me, and we were madly in love.

He obviously never got over her. A few years after Elizabeth chose me, Stuart started sending her birthday cards. He wrote a hokey message about forgiveness, and how he finally wished her “nothing but the best.” Now he just signs his name, but he still sends them. His strategy for being remembered is so transparent, but I guess it works, insofar as making Elizabeth pity him enough to send birthday cards, too.

If she’d have stayed, she’d still be Stuart’s literary accessory, and he’d be self-publishing chapbooks that no one reads, dedicating them to my darling elizabeth and expecting her to feel not just flattered, but honored. Meanwhile, she’d be holed up with a calico cat in a tiny apartment in Harlem, scribbling notes in a knock-off Moleskine and mass-mailing her CV to second-tier schools, facing rejection after silent rejection until someone in Indiana called for an interview from which she’d never return. I gave her a home with a pool and a garden, fresh air, a job, a respected husband with thick hair and a boat. She might miss the idea of that other life, but if she’d have stayed, right now she’d be wondering what might’ve happened if she’d said yes when that handsome doctor invited her for a drink after his panel discussion.

So the problem is boredom. Nick is only a symptom.

“Elizabeth.”

She doesn’t turn.

“What about giving their book group another try?”

“Their huh?”

“Luna’s book group.”

She moans and rolls her head. “Don’t you remember how mortifying that was?”

“Of course I do, but it was so long ago. Maybe they’ve gotten better.”

“Maybe. Not my job to investigate.”

I pace myself. “Those women need someone like you.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Are you kidding? Don’t act like you don’t know this.”

“Robert, those women don’t want to discuss books with me.”