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enormous expenditure of self-control prevented me from adding, “Are you insane?”
    â€œYes,” she went on, fiddling with her napkin, “I’m fine. Brad is an honest man.”
    Ah, the questions that were crowding my mind! Such as: How can you be sure Brad hasn’t hidden hundreds of thousands of dollars under the proverbial mattress?
    I asked instead, “So, what do you do with yourself all day? Really, I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t get out to an office every morning. Kill myself, most likely.”
    â€œOh, Eve—Eva—don’t say something like that!”
    I made a face as if to say, “Whatever.” Since turning forty, I try not to use that expression, but I’m not past implying it. “Well,” I repeated, “what do you do?”
    â€œWell, unpacking and setting up the apartment took some time. But I’m almost finished. So, I don’t know. I’m thinking of going for my real estate license here in Massachusetts. I was thinking that working in real estate might be a good way to meet people.”
    â€œYes,” I said. “And by people, do you mean men?”
    Sophie laughed. “I mean all people, but yes, men, too.”
    â€œSo, you’re ready to get back in the game?”
    â€œYes. I think so. Why?” Sophie asked eagerly. “Do you know anyone for me?”
    Assist the rival? Not that I considered Sophie much of a rival. “No,” I said. “I’m afraid you’ll have to find your own dates.”
    â€œOh.” Sophie looked downright crestfallen. “I was hoping . . . It would be nice to meet someone through a friend, someone I can trust. You know?”
    So, Sophie considered me a friend and not simply an old, dusted-off acquaintance. She considered me someone she could trust. Was Sophie someone I could trust? How was I to know? Besides, I thought, I’m not in the market for a trust buddy.
    I nodded, offering neither a yes nor a no.
    â€œI want to get married again,” Sophie explained. “But I want to take the dating thing slowly. I don’t want to make a mistake and it’s been so long. I really don’t know what I’m doing.”
    â€œTaking things slowly makes sense. Though you’d better not wait too long before making a move. Forty might be the new thirty but there are an awful lot of men out there who prefer the actual to the ‘as if.’ ”
    â€œI know, I know. The whole thing is so daunting.”
    â€œAnd yet you still want to try again. Even after going through a divorce you feel positive about marriage.”
    Some people, I realized long ago, are gluttons for punishment.
    â€œI do, yes. Marriage worked for me, for a long time. A new marriage would be different, of course. Well, obviously.”
    â€œObviously.”
    â€œFor example, this time I’d like . . .” Sophie hesitated.
    â€œYou’d like what?” I asked.
    â€œWell,” she said, after a quick glance to her left to assure she couldn’t be overheard, “I’d like a more passionate marriage. I’d like to know what it feels like to really . . . to really want someone.”
    â€œA marriage with passion? Good luck finding the impossible.”
    â€œEven in the beginning,” she went on, ignoring my remark, “Brad and I weren’t—I don’t know, wild. We were in love but it was more like . . . more like friends who love each other. I’m not saying that was bad. Our marriage worked for a long time. Still . . .”
    â€œThis time you want orgasms that cause the neighbors to pound on the wall.”
    Sophie’s eyes widened. “Well, I don’t want to be fined for disturbing the peace, but I wouldn’t mind some fireworks! And I know—at least, I’ve read—that you can’t manufacture real passion. You have to let it find you.”
    â€œSo,” I said, “since your