‘I know, it was reckless,’ John said. ‘But in the East Village in the early aughts, we all did.’

‘Aughts.’ I laughed, taking another sip. ‘Such a stupid name for a decade.’

‘Well, it was a hell of a decade anyway. And unlike you, I was old enough to truly appreciate it.’

‘Practically an old man, really,’ I said.

John raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, I am quickly crawling toward death.’

I grinned. The air in the cottage, which had felt oppressive since I’d seen Ellie, was more pleasant with him in it. Our arms were only inches apart, and – another intrusive thought – if I let myself sink in a tiny bit closer, they would touch.

He set his glass down and turned to me. ‘Do you want kids, you think?’

My eyes narrowed. ‘That came out of nowhere.’

‘Death, birth.’ He shrugged, fooling with one of the cuffs of his sweater. ‘Two sides of the same coin.’

I bought time with another sip. Truth was, I had wanted children, very badly. I’d once thought they were a possibility, even a certainty. ‘I don’t know,’ I said, blinking back a sudden weight in my eyes. ‘Do you?’

A change in our energy – his eyes looked awfully, unbearably sad. There was the slightest sheen to them, almost as if he was about to cry.

I forced a laugh. ‘You started it!’ The joke came out all wrong, poisoning the air like an acrid smell. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s okay. I did start it, didn’t I? We wanted kids, yes. Then again, we didn’t,’ he said, studying the wall as if it would offer some sort of answer. ‘It’s complicated.’

He leaned forward again, pouring more into his glass, even though it wasn’t empty.

‘Should I put on some music?’ I asked.

John shook his head, and I noticed dots of sweat on his upper lip. ‘It’s funny, when we first moved up here, I couldn’t stand the quiet,’ he said. ‘Now I can’t stand even a bit of noise. The crickets. A car passing by.’ He leaned back, resting his head on the cushion, blinked a few times, glass still in hand.

Outside, the grumble of a car slowly passing by. Its lights splashed the room with shadows.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked, scooting a bit closer to him on the sofa.

He straightened, then blinked again, as if trying to focus. ‘Yeah, it just got to me all at once,’ he said.

I nodded. ‘Me too.’

‘I guess the good stuff is strong.’ This didn’t stop him from taking another sip. He stared at me. ‘We had a miscarriage.’

‘Oh.’ I scooted back instinctively.

He gazed into his whiskey. ‘Yeah.’

My brain felt like Swiss cheese, but I tried to focus on saying the right thing. ‘Had you – er – had you been trying a long time?’