“And that’s the real problem, isn’t it?” said Rosie. “This is all about Matthew’s work. It’s not about you at all. It’s the same old story all over again. They say times have changed for women, but they haven’t, not really. When it comes down to it, it’s the man’s job that’s the important one, not the woman’s. They don’t care about your life at all.”

“I don’t know that I’d agree with that,” said Emma. “Matthew’s made a point of asking me if I’d be okay about this.”

“Asking you!” Rosie snorted. “I know that sort of asking. ‘Hello, darling, I’ve been given this wonderful opportunity for me, which would be really interesting for me and lead to amazing things for me and, oh, by the way, it would be completely hideous for you, but you don’t mind if we do it, do you, because it would be so marvelously good for me?’”

“That’s not how he’s saying it,” said Emma. “I mean, he says he wants to do it, because he obviously does. But he also says that it has to be my choice, too, and he’s not going to do it unless I’m fully in agreement.”

“Well, that’s even worse,” said Rosie. “That’s emotional blackmail. He’s making you make the decision for both of you, and if you don’t make the decision he wants, then he’ll sulk.”

“I don’t think he would,” said Emma. “I know Matthew pretty well, and he’s not a sulker.”

“Well, then,” said Rosie. “If you really hate the thought of it, and he wouldn’t sulk if you didn’t, then why would you do it?”

“I just wish,” said Emma to Matthew the following Saturday morning, “that you’d stop being so bloody reasonable about this.”

Matthew poured more coffee into his mug and sighed.

“If you’d rather,” he said, “I hit you on the head with my club and dragged you to North Dakota by your hair, I’ll go out and buy one for the purpose. But you can’t go to the hairdresser for a few weeks because I’ll need it a little longer to get a really good grip.”

Emma looked wistfully at the bowl from which he was helping himself to sugar; but reminded herself, sternly, that four months before her wedding was no time to start putting on weight.

“It would just be much less complicated,” she said, “if you could find it in your heart to find a way to be even the smallest little bit obnoxious, because that would make the decision very much easier for me.”

He thought.

“You can’t sing,” he offered. “You hog the duvet, and you look really silly when you’ve got a cold.”

“Nice try,” she told him.

He laughed a little, then stopped.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” he said. “I know how difficult this must be for you. If I were you, I wouldn’t want to go to North Dakota just because I’d been sent there. I don’t even know what decision I’d make about it if I were in your place, so I really feel for what you’re going through now.”