Don’t you try that—one glance at me and you think you can magically see into me, she thought. On the computer, she asked him how many women he was sending these messages to. He didn’t deny it, didn’t claim he spoke to only her in this way. He said at the moment there were no other suitable candidates for him to chat with. She asked what he meant by “suitable candidates.” He said a woman like her, extremely reserved and extremely discontented.

Hongmei thought “discontented” was about right.

He said yesterday, at the restaurant, he’d been studying her all along. To her right had been a stainless-steel radiator that had reflected her profile. He had been able to see what her hand was doing on that side, pushing the hair back from her face, gently rubbing her temples, fiddling with her clear crystal earring, stirring her drink with her straw. She had looked impatient, bored, but other people would have read this as elegance and refinement. He even described her expression, calling her eyes inviting.

Inviting people’s attention?

Not just that. He said her eyes had been asking to be caressed, truly caressed. They wanted others to look back at them, to feel. Maybe they even wanted to be invaded, to be conquered and possessed. He’d never encountered such an ambivalent woman. He believed it was in this moment that she’d captured him.

A knock at the door. Before she could react, Glen thrust his face in, flushed and sweaty. She asked if he’d had a good run.

“Unbelievably good,” he said. “Now let’s have breakfast.”

She said, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Glen said, “Wow. You look stunning this morning. Your eyes are ablaze.” With that, his lanky body leaned over the desk, his lips pursed. This was the obligatory morning kiss, and God help her if she tried to get out of it.

Hongmei pressed her lips to his right away and stood up. The only way to get him out of here at once was to go have breakfast. Her diversionary tactic worked, and Glen didn’t so much as glance at the words on the screen. With his arm around her waist, they headed for the kitchen. Beneath his palm, his errant Asian wife, she imagined, felt young and demure, absolutely perfect.

And behind them was the evidence of her flirtation with a strange man.

* * *

The man showed up in her inbox again three days later. Giving her enough time to miss him. He said sorry for not being around; his only daughter had come for a surprise visit, and those three days had been all hers. He hadn’t seen her in twelve years, and every one of the birthday cards he’d mailed her had been returned.