“That’s all right.” The boy struggles to keep her here, an “um” buzzing under his breath. She bites her lip and walks away. She got him to notice her. That’s her first step: plant the seed. Whether or not she encounters this particular boy later doesn’t matter. The seed is for her. She has confidence, even in pajamas. She balances on the yellow line.

Carla and Dave met their senior year of college and dated for seven years. They were so in love that Carla hardly believes it now. Part of the problem was that she was a virgin when they met. She didn’t know what a bad relationship was, so she couldn’t appreciate a good one when it struck her in the face.

One weekend, in their last year together, Carla was out of town on behalf of the New York Public Library, at an MLA conference in Philadelphia. When she returned to their apartment, Dave was silent. He was usually such a talkative guy, heavy and rumpled, manipulating his doughy palms into endearing patterns while he spoke. So it was mystifying when he crashed on their futon for days, one leg on the rocking chair, socks dangling off his toes.

After work on the second day, she stationed herself in the threshold of their studio. “Dave. What the hell is going on?”

He combed a hand through his hair, leaving greasy tracks. “Something shitty happened. While you were away.”

Carla was terrified, thinking Dave had been mugged, that they’d been evicted, that he had cancer. “What?”

“I got raped.” He said it plainly, like he’d thought about it a lot, like this was definitely what had happened.

Carla wanted to laugh. Dave was over two fifty. No girl could rape him. But no—he must mean a man. Some hulking form pinning him in an alley in the East Village. She hated herself for this later but she thought about anal warts, rectal tearing, HIV. “Oh, Jesus,” she said. She grabbed him into a hug, his slime of cold sweat breaking her heart.

When they separated, he said, “Remember how I went to Shane’s party while you were gone?”

“Of course.” She never got jealous of Dave going to parties without her. First off, he was loyal, but second of all, Carla’s attraction to him was singular.

“Well, I basically blacked out.” That was typical Dave. Despite his size, his tolerance was low. He often woke her calling from the wrong ends of subway lines: Dyre Avenue, Van Cortlandt Park, Pelham Bay Parkway. “Babe,” he’d say. “Where am I?”

“Okay,” said Carla. “Then what?” At least they hadn’t had sex since she’d been home. They might have to abstain for six months. She finds it ironic that she focused on that. She never worries about disease now and has never had a problem.

Dave sighed like this next part was impossible. But then he told her so clearly and easily that it was like he’d told other people already, his family and friends, strangers on the subway. He’d woken up in Shane’s bedroom, lights on and the door half open, with a girl bouncing on him.