“I’m no fucking movie star. Why would you say that? Why would you say that to me? It’s humiliating.”

She turned and looked at Arman sitting on the couch. He put his head in his hands. It was eerie how much he looked the way he had outside in the middle of the night. She found herself wondering, Do we all repeat the same gestures every day? If we stripped away the words, the weather, and the noise, would our days be nothing but repetitive choreography?

The neighbor—he had seen her with Arman. He had stuck his fingers beneath her bathing suit and pulled. He had seen them talking outside and made an assumption.

Why had she pretended to be Kiki?

Why not? she answered herself immediately. Why not be Kiki if the option presented itself? At least for an afternoon?

Unable to commit to either standing or sitting, she leaned against the wall. “I’m sorry.”

Arman shrugged it off. “It’s okay.”

“No, I’m really sorry.” Though she hadn’t exactly intended it, she recognized she was offering a larger, more all-encompassing apology, one for how she’d opted out of their lives. “I mean, I realize it’s probably too late. I realize you probably don’t give a shit.”

He scratched his beard. “I do.” His bluster was suddenly gone. “I do give a shit. Come here. Come sit down.”

She walked over and sat on the other side of the couch.

“Look,” he said.

“What?”

“I don’t want to fight with you.”

“You don’t? You sort of seem to.”

“I do?”

She nodded.

“Well, I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry, too.” Arman looked, for the first time, like … a dad. A worn-out dad on a Sunday.

“It’s okay,” she said. “Really, let’s just stop.”

He nodded and stretched his wrist out. He did a trick with his hands that made it look as if he’d cut off his thumb. He’d performed this trick years ago for Leda, who’d loved it and giggled, but Sarah had screamed so loudly that no one had ever let her forget it.

“Arman,” she warned now. “Stop!”

He gave her a smile as if he was giving her a gift, but at least for the moment she did feel more relaxed.

“So, I know it wouldn’t occur to Matthew,” Arman said, in a weird sort of hurry, “but he shoots so many ads, so many, and even one national ad—just one—I mean, do you understand how much actors get paid for one ad—even the voice work?… It just—I—” Arman shook his head.