“I was thinking about maybe checking in with that temp agency I was with before I had Eli. You know, for a little ‘me’ money,” I tell him casually.

His expression darkens. “You know how I feel about you working. I’ve been kind of a fuddy-duddy lately, and I’m sorry. But I always take care of you, don’t I? Hmmm?” He puts a finger beneath my chin to tip up my face. His breath is sour.

“Eli’s in school all day. In a few years he’ll be out of the house. I don’t need to be a stay-home mom forever, Ken. I need … more.”

“So join a book club. Take up a hobby. I don’t want you to need a job. That’s never how it’s been with us. My dad worked so my mom could stay home, and that’s always what I wanted. That’s been the routine. Bad things happen when you try to break out of the routine, Jewelann. A strong and happy home is based on a strong foundation. And we have to work on that together. Don’t we? Can I count on you? Because you can count on me. I promise you.” He moves closer but doesn’t touch me. “Hey, I have an idea. What do you say we go out for dinner tonight? A date. You and me. Like a real married couple.”

Somehow, we are swaying, dancing, with his hands on my waist. I laugh a little awkwardly. “Aren’t we already a real married couple?”

“I haven’t taken you out in a long time. You should get dressed up. Be treated to a night out. How about it?”

“What about Eli?”

“He’s sixteen,” Ken’s tone is short. He looks annoyed. “He’s not a baby, even though you insist on treating him like one. He can make himself dinner. He’ll probably love having the house to himself for a few hours.”

“Sure. Okay.” I push up to kiss his lips. Anything to keep him happy. “I’ll go get ready.”

“Wear that black dress you wore to my company party,” he calls after me as I climb the stairs.

I freeze, a hand on the railing. I turn to peek over it at him. “I was going to wear the blue—”

“I want to see you in the black. Heels. Those diamond earrings that were my mother’s.”

It’s the same exact outfit I wore to the reunion. “That’s really dressy, Ken.”

“If you can’t get dressed up for a date with your husband,” he says, “who can you get dressed up for?”

Beneath my hand, the smooth wooden railing feels suddenly slippery. “Nobody?”

“That’s my girl,” my husband says.

He takes me for sushi, even though he doesn’t like it and orders a noodle dish instead. He even orders wine and dessert, and he whisks the bill away before I have a chance to see it. He pays with cash, a small sheaf of bills that’s depleted quite a bit by the time he tucks it back into his pocket.