There wasn’t much to say after that. They lay beside one another for a while, not quite certain what to do or say, or if moving had any point, and then, though it was far too early for them to actually be going to sleep, they undressed for bed.

As she was tying her braids with a silk scarf to keep them from bugging her in the night, Liza glanced over at her wife and realised that Hanna was wearing a new bra, something pretty and front-fastening with lace detailing on the back like butterfly wings. “Did you get that for me?”

Hanna shrugged. “I’d say I got it for myself, but you’d know that was a lie. I had a silly idea I’d seduce you.”

It wasn’t the underwear itself so much as the fact she’d bought it. Hanna hated buying lingerie because she was very petite and a couple of adolescent experiences with insensitive fitting room attendants commenting on her lack of bosom had put her off the whole enterprise. “You’re—you didn’t have to. But—fuck—you know I still think you’re gorgeous, right?”

Carefully, as if trying not to crack ice or break a spell, Hanna edged along the bed and pressed a hand to Liza’s cheek. “And I think you’re beautiful. Endlessly, heartbreakingly fucking beautiful.” She leaned forward and kissed Liza gently on the lips, and it was intimate and distant at the same time and Liza almost wanted to cry from it.

With a decidedly conflicted knot in her stomach, Liza pulled back. “I want to—but—it’s been a long day.”

“It’s been a long year,” Hanna pointed out.

“And … we’re still … we’ve just had a fight. A serious this-might-be-over fight.”

Hanna pulled her hand away. “Remember when post-fight sex was the best sex we ever had?”

“Yeah.” Without thinking, Liza gathered the covers around herself like a child’s safety blanket. “But that was when fights were about politics or books or friend group drama. Not when they were about—I don’t know—how you make me feel superfluous.”

If she’d slapped Hanna she couldn’t have got a stronger reaction. “I make you feel superfluous?”

“No. Yes. Sometimes. Not really. It was—” Shit. She was fucking this up. She was fucking this up, and she was going to lose her wife. “I’m tired. But you’re so in control of everything and so decisive about everything, and I sometimes feel like I’m just … just following you.”

“Most Actual wasn’t following me.”

“And it’s killed our time together. It might have killed us. And it’s not like it brings in half the money your job does, so it’s just me throwing away my time on a vanity project when I could be spending it with you.”