I tried to think of things to say, but all I could think about was how I wanted to leave. Des had already received half of his payment up front—$250—and I would get the second half from him at the end of the night. If I ran, we’d still be okay. But Des would be furious with me for losing out on the other half of that cash. Her moods snapped these days, as fast as rubber bands. Forming sentences felt impossible, my head filled with air. I watched Tom take a sip from his wineglass, watched his mouth move, but all I could hear was that shrill, horrible wail. I forced myself to smile, like an idiot, and right away he looked confused. My head hurt from the wine and from the noise. I couldn’t concentrate on anything other than how I could make that sound stop. The wail rose into a shriek. It was so piercing that my hands jumped to my ears.

Tom frowned. “I didn’t know I was so boring.” This time he didn’t look confused, only angry. I remembered what Des said, about men wanting to go out with women who make them feel important. I was failing, and we hadn’t even gotten our dinners yet.

I jumped again when a busboy came to the table to fill our water glasses from a big silver pitcher. Des told me this restaurant would be fun, but everything felt alien and threatening. The way the waiter smiled at me, like he knew exactly who and what I was. The silverware that gleamed from every tabletop, bright slashes in the candlelight. The way a man came and briskly wiped the bread crumbs from the tablecloth, like I’d done something wrong. Tom’s mouth was moving again, and I understood that I was meant to be not just listening, but flirting, touching, talking, and yet all I heard was the baby screaming. I spoke over him, excused myself to the bathroom, and he narrowed his eyes at me as I stood.

I locked myself in a stall and took deep breaths, as slowly as I could. I couldn’t afford to mess this up. I splashed some water on my face and counted to ten, to twenty, to thirty. When I got to fifty-five seconds, the crying stopped. I could hear the bathroom attendant singing to herself. She had a low, pretty voice. She smiled up at me as I washed my hands, but as I smiled back it occurred to me that we might be alike: doomed to smile even when we were trapped.