She threw on a T-shirt and went to get the door. He went to the kitchen for some water.

“Not too much of that,” she said, giggling. “Unless you’re prepared to work through cramps.”

He waved her away. She was still making funny faces when she pressed the buzzer to release the outer door. He headed for the bathroom to urinate, picking up his clothes along the way.

He stood over the toilet and removed the condom, which was fitting him loosely now, flapping about like the wing of a wounded bird. He held it up to the light to check for ruptures, filled it at the sink, checked again, then began to lose the rest of his erection as he considered the larger meaning of this sack—that there used to be a time when making love was about affirming life instead of defying death. He thought about his father. Wondered if he used them. They didn’t discuss that sort of thing. Private lives.

He dropped the condom in the toilet. Fuck, he thought, I don’t have another one. He hadn’t thought that sex would happen this soon. Now he’d have to go to the store. He could ask her—but no, he could not. Whatever she had was for her and the man—that is, if they used them. They’d better. This is fucked up.

And will she tell him about this? he wondered, as he pulled on his trousers. The urine had not come. And if so, what will it mean for them? What has it meant for her? What does it mean to me, all that has happened in these last few hours? Oh fuck! Phil! I forgot to take him his dinner. I didn’t even call. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Would she understand, he wondered, noting the second toothbrush in the holder, if he told her that he was no longer in the mood? Would she take it personally, as some sort of affront to her womanhood, if he said that things had happened too quickly, and that he needed some time to think about what this means, and what, ideally, he would like it to mean?

This is a dangerous space for me, he said to himself. Again he was in love with a woman who was involved with another man.

He looked at his face in the mirrored door of the medicine cabinet. Are you in love? You, with that whitish glaze on your cheeks. Are you in love?

I am.

How do you know this?

The smell of molasses. It’s everywhere.

There has to be more than that.

Lemme put it to you this way, I know that I’m in love with her because I know deep down in my heart that if she asked me to be her man right now I’d tell her yes.

Why?

Because I believe we’ve connected for a reason … I can give her a lot of what she needs …

Her voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Who is it?” she asked, inquiring by rote. Who else could it be but the pizza man?