He put on a pair of rimless glasses and laid out his supplies. I heard his pencil going over the paper in quick movements. A sound etched in my brain from so long ago. After Gabe was born and we got back together, he rarely drew me. I felt he wasn’t a fan of my postpartum body. After a few minutes of silence, I said, “The sex … tonight?” He waited. I said, “It was wonderful.”

“Yes, it was.”

“It wasn’t what I expected.”

“You and me both.”

“What changed your mind?”

He scratched his cheek and stopped drawing. “I just got this overwhelming feeling of warmth. I didn’t want what I thought I wanted.” He started drawing again. “And I’m perverse. If you resist, I’ll fight. If you give in, I’m flexible.”

His pencil against the paper: scratch, scratch.

He said, “I can’t stand to be told no. But I especially hate it from you. I feel it’s a prelude to you leaving me. I don’t trust you.”

I sighed. “I’m not going to waste my breath defending myself.”

“You left me three times.”

“Two. You can’t count high school.”

“Yes, I can.”

“We weren’t even dating. You had another girlfriend. You screwed her on the night we were supposed to run away together. Or don’t you remember that, Donatti?”

“I’m not senile yet. I not only fucked her, I fucked her twice. I was a fucking idiot. And it caused me a whole lot of grief, including half a year in a medium-security penitentiary, in order not to get you involved in my mess. It may not sound like a lot of time, but believe me, prison is the ultimate shit show.”

I paused. “I stood by you.”

“For a while.”

“Christopher, I’m committed to you. I married you. You’re my husband. And that’s all I’m going to say.”

He looked up. “Forgive me if I’m a bit insecure.”

“That’s an odd adjective to use.”

“I’m human. I have my weaknesses.” He yawned. “I could use a cup of coffee. Don’t move. I’ll do it. Is the machine set up?”

“Yes.”

He got up and returned a moment later, took a sip, and started sketching again.

I said, “Are you okay doing this?”

“Doing what? Drawing you?”

“No, not that.” A pause. “You know …”

“No, I don’t know.” His voice was gruff. “What?”

“Rescuing Sanjay?”

“Oh, that.” He stretched. “Yeah, I’m fine. Shooting people isn’t one of my weaknesses. But I don’t think it’ll come to that.” He went back to his sketch pad.

I tried to remain calm. “Did you take something this morning?”

“What? Like drugs?” He looked at me. “No, I didn’t take drugs. I need my wits about me for the next week.”

“What about Viagra?”