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finally felt something when another jolt came up through my chest, and then another and another until Ethan screamed “Oh god fuck!” and I wanted to smack the surly look from his face, but instead fell forward on top of him, slid my head against the thin, wet hairs on his chest, and listened to the beat of his heart retreat before raising my head and staring down at the little man-boy soon to be somebody’s father. I wanted to puke.
    I rolled over on my back and covered my eyes with my elbow. “You can go now,” I said.
    “Come on, don’t do this.”
    “No, don’t talk. Just go.”
    I kept my eyes covered, listening to the sounds of Ethan dressing, the swish of his zipper, the clink of his belt buckle, every sound amplified as if with his clothing he could smite the heavy silence that hung between us. Then I had to look up and catch his sullen stare as he put on his shoes.
    Freddy strolled up and lay languorously at his feet with her arms and legs outstretched. She was such a little tease, reminded me of Shade actually. Ethan couldn’t resist and went to pet her. She clamped down on his finger.
    “Ow!” He lifted his hand as if he might hit her.
    “Touch her and I’ll kill you.”
    He shook his head. “You know, you haven’t changed at all. You just sit there all cold like a—I don’t know, like a statue. Everything’s so tied up in your convoluted perceptions of power.”
    “My convoluted what! You mention your pregnant wife when you’re about to…you know, whatever.” I tried running my fingers through my hair, but was halted by clumps of dry mousse. I squeezed my fists until my scalp burned.
    “Come, the word is come. You still can’t say it.”
    “Would you just go home! We’ll call it a mistake and walk away.”
    “You did that already, know what I’m saying? There’s no airplane this time.”
    “No, just wives and babies, what was I thinking?” I sat defiantly. Counted backwards from ten, waiting for him to be gone, but he stayed there staring at me. I folded my arms over my knees, the red sheet tenting in between them, then leaned forward, taking a deep, long breath. “Jesus, Ethan, what are we doing?”
    He shook his head back and forth, his eyes softening into contrition, his palms and mouth agape. “I don’t know,” he said finally, and we mirrored each other with monkey-see-monkey-do gestures until the whole thing seemed so damn absurd.
    He walked to the front door. I followed. He turned and looked at me with his silk blazer draped over his shoulders. If I could have named the designer his latest collection probably filled the pages of Jammin’. Ethan was never much for integrity, nor journalism. The glorified gonzo life suited him well.
    “So, I guess I’ll see you,” he said.
    “Yeah, sure.”
    He leaned over and kissed the top of my head. I looked up, smiling slightly, wishing he would just leave, because with every lingering second I grew colder, petrified like stone, or what did he call me? A statue.
    After he left I remained numb. Riding an insomniac’s rage, I scrutinized the sheets for any sign of him—a smell, a stain, a leftover pubic hair—something to prove he was actually here and qualify the emptiness I felt, just as I used to search my bed for quarters left by the tooth fairy, a small compensation for the gaping hole between my teeth. Once, sleeping with my head above a tooth, I felt Neil’s hands underneath my pillow. I screamed. Dad came in and they fought violently, punching and grabbing at each other like amateur boxers. They were both red in the face when Dad, finally, using all of his weight, took down his pubescent son.
    “You steal quarters from your sister!” Dad screamed.
    “Fuck off,” Neil said, and they eyed each other so viciously I wanted to bury my head in my pillow.
    Dad let go of Neil’s arms and stood up.
    “Drunk loser ass,” Neil mumbled, and, despite Dad’s fingerprints all over his neck, he towered out of the room as if