He took a quick shower, blew his hair dry, brushed his teeth, and threw on clean boxer briefs and an undershirt. When he returned to his bedroom, she was sitting up in the middle of the bed, still naked except for the sheet she had pulled over her legs, looking out of the glass-paned door that led to his balcony. She had her arms wrapped around her knees and her back hunched over like a C, her spine visible like tire treads through her translucent skin. He resolved to make sure she ate something before he left.

She turned to look at him, and her eyebrows popped, like she’d just remembered an appointment she was late for. “I, um . . . I don’t have any money.”

“What?”

“I mean, I should probably go get some Plan B, is all, but I think it’s like eighty dollars. I guess I could go to the Planned Parenthood. I think it’s free there, or sliding scale. I’ve never been.”

“Oh no, honey, no!” He slapped a hand to his forehead, feeling every inch the scumbag that he feared he was. “I am sorry. That was irresponsible and shitty and . . . I should have communicated better. I should have asked permission to do it without a condom. But you don’t need Plan B. I’m sterile. I cannot get you pregnant. I should have told you last night before I did anything.”

“Oh,” she said. Not annoyed or upset or even relieved. Just, Oh, of course, sure, whatever you say. “What makes you sterile?”

“I . . . had a vasectomy,” he said in an uncomfortable singsong.

“Why?”

“Well, to be honest, that decision is a relic from a different time when I was a different person!” He laughed. He always needed to laugh at this part. “I did get someone pregnant, and you can guess how that ended, but at the time, I would have rather removed the risk factor than change my behavior. But as you can see, even sober, I’m still a sloppy, irresponsible moron!”

“It’s okay.” She said it with a hint of confusion, like she didn’t understand what he had done wrong or why he was apologizing. “Do you regret doing it?”

“Honestly, no. But I do have some swimmers sitting frozen in a sperm bank on Long Island. So if I have a sudden and uncharacteristic change of heart one day, I left the option available.”

He circled the bed, running his fingers along the duvet, until he was standing in front of her, blocking her view of the balcony.

She was still all nerves. “I guess I, um . . . I guess I should go home.”

“Should you?”

She shrugged.

He crawled into bed, straddling his legs on either side of her. “Where is home?”

She turned around to face him, keeping her knees up to her chest like a barricade. “Riverside, I guess.”

“You guess?”