Why do you have to make this about us? Huh? Turn some petty argument between two kids into some grand episode ripped from the pages of our life together? You are so self-consumed, you know that? You are. I don’t think I’ve ever even used those words before and here I am, saying them about my own wife. You are obsessed with you. My God, this has nothing to do with us not having children … I can’t believe that you’d even, Jesus. You’re impossible. You really are, or you’ve gotten that way over the last few years. Maybe that’s it. You dazzled me with your looks and that smile and the way that you entertain when a friend drops by … something. Something has kept me from realizing the kind of person you are. I mean, seriously, to even say that, to bring up our … don’t stand up now. Don’t do that, make some scene out of this. Please don’t. Well, fine, but I’m turning around, I’m going to turn and watch those two leave because that’s interesting to me, their story holds some mystery and intrigue to anyone watching, whereas you’re just making a spectacle of yourself. A pathetic middle-aged spectacle. See, now he’s got his back to me. Damn it! I can’t hear what he’s saying.

“… and you still feel that way, then we’ll make a decision.”

“OK.”

“All right?”

“Yeah. That seems fair.”

“Anyway, I’m sorry. I am.”

“Me too. I’m … did you leave enough?”

“I think. I think so … seven dollars is good, right?”

“Probably.”