That night, G is sweet and soft with me. I know he won’t stay the night, but he lingers after we’ve had sex for an unusually long time. We lie side by side in my narrow bed and he stares into my eyes, unraveling the knot in my chest. We’re in the between space where the postcoital chemicals are still coursing through our veins and my tilting endorphin high hasn’t yet been eclipsed by the anxiety that he’ll leave. Soon, I’ll start watching for signs that he’s on the move: his eyes flickering in the direction of the door, his hand reaching for his pants, his eyes clouding back over with his own separate thoughts, the channel that opens between us closing until next time. A next time that is never promised. I’ll be left here in sheets covered with the scent of him, bereft, and wondering if I’m in love with him because what else could be this potent? How is it this strong if it’s just sex? It’s as though being with him has altered my brain chemistry. But for now he’s here, the connection between us clear and present. I’m searching for a way to ask him about Colonia, but I don’t want to ruin the moment.

“You’re an incredible woman, do you know that?” he says.

I smile at him and close my eyes.

“I don’t want you to ever be with anyone who doesn’t see that.”

I sigh. This feels like a warning that he has no intention of making this permanent. He looks at me for a long moment, combing my hair behind my ear, his eyes searching my face for something.

“What happened to you, Tiger?”

I swallow, propping myself up on my elbow and letting the sheet fall away. Over the last few weeks, I’ve lost some weight, and there is no one I want to notice this more than him. “What do you mean?”

He cocks his head at me and gives me a patient smile, because I know what he’s asking. I let myself drop back down flat on the bed and stare up at the ceiling.

“Did you lose someone close to you?”

I nod.

“My sister . . .” I begin, but it’s as far as I can get.

“You lost your sister?”

“In a way. She’s not dead.” It’s so much worse than that. “We’re estranged. Probably forever.”

“Oh, Tiger, I’m sorry,” he says. I wonder if he isn’t a little unimpressed. It’s not as dramatic as he’s expecting maybe. “I’d taken you for an only child. You know,” he says, pulling me close to him now, “I had a sibling growing up. A brother, but we don’t speak now.”

I consider this for a moment, if this is part of our bond, having endured these living deaths.