“Of course you will,” Aneeta laughed. “You’re still a New Yorker.”

Aneeta lived about a half mile from the hotel, where the closely set houses of the village began to give way to the open acres that surrounded it. Her house was a perfect copy of the one from every Hollywood movie about family: a white colonial with all the trimmings—columns, shutters, perfect boxwood hedges, and a front door painted red. It wasn’t the type of house that Maja had ever wanted for herself, but it did represent a sort of American dream ideal that had always fascinated her.

It was, Maja had to admit to herself as she walked through town, partly this fascination with the suburban, the solid and predictable, that made Ted so attractive to her. In college, Maja had dated boys who were, to one extent or another, not unlike herself: film students, boys in bands, and the occasional Polish boy, just for variety. After college it was a writer (bartender), a jazz musician (music teacher), and her former social psychology professor, which in retrospect was so messed up on both of their parts that she couldn’t think about it without cringing. And then she met Ted.

He had come into the gallery with some friends who worked in banking, and who were looking for large works to decorate their new lofts. While the other guys looked at paintings, Ted, with his thick auburn hair and impish grin, looked at her.

For the first few years of their marriage, they were always adding new friends, always choosing between weekend invites, and always spending much more than they saved. It was a fun way to live in the city. Once Ted started his job at the investment bank, Maja no longer had to keep a running tab of the cost of each cocktail that she ordered, plus tax and tip, to make sure she could settle her tab at the end of the night. Now she could plunk down their credit card for an entire round of drinks without worry. Ted had even paid off her student loans, another thing she’d never mentioned to her parents.

Couples in New York could go on this way forever, Maja knew, entertaining and being entertained. New York City was like a year-round summer camp for adults, except instead of canoeing and songs by the campfire, there were hot yoga classes and drag brunches. Always something new, no need to get bored.

And yet, it had become sort of boring. Or maybe it was her, or Ted. Maybe they had become boring.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, like a reproach to her thoughts. It was a message from Ted: I’m sorry, babe. Got stuck in a late meeting. On my way now. Her phoned beeped with a low-battery warning, and Maja turned it off and tucked it into her purse. He’d get there when he got there.