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the receiver loudly enough for Karen, who understood French, to overhear. Michael opted not to answer her question, which he interpreted as rhetorical anyway. “How long did you think you could pull the wool over my eyes? You said you loved me!” Mireille switched back to English.
    â€œBut you’re engaged to another man,” Michael weakly protested.
    â€œ Et alors ?” Mireille challenged him. “It’s not like you give a damn about fidelity!”
    She had a point, or, more precisely, half of one. Because Michael cared a great deal about fidelity when it came to the women he dated. He was just willing to overlook such minor indiscretions when they arose from his side, that’s all. Consequently, even if he could manage to get over her alarming thinness, Mireille could never be marriage material given that she was cheating with him on her fiancé. After all, he had his standards.
    â€œAm I your girlfriend or just a friend with benefits?” Mireille asked with an uncharacteristic lucidity that made Michael feel somewhat uncomfortable.
    â€œWhat kind of a dumb question is that? Of course you’re my girlfriend!” he blurted out. But before Mireille could find out what level of commitment such an elastic concept entailed, Karen had heard enough. She slammed her purse loudly upon the glass coffee table. Michael turned around to watch with some trepidation the glass quiver upon its metal frame. What the hell does she carry in that purse anyway? Rocks? “Gotta go,” he whispered hastily into the receiver, and then hung up the phone.
    Karen assailed him with a plethora of questions. “Who is she?” “A fellow teaching assistant in our department,” he said. “How long have you been hooking up with her?” “We started the Master’s program together,” “How long have you been her lover?” “Since before we met,” he replied, hoping this fact would exonerate him. Apparently, it didn’t, since Karen pursued, “Why didn’t you break up with her once the two of us became serious?” That question proved to be somewhat trickier. Thinking quickly on his feet, Michael did his best to address it. “You’re freaking’ unbelievable!” Karen exploded after he had calmly informed her that he’d been trying to break up with Mireille for the past year and ten months. “The whole time we’ve been together you’ve been screwing around with another woman,” she concluded. That was not entirely correct, however. Technically speaking, he had been consorting with dozens of women, if one counted Lisa plus all the one night, one day and few minutes stands. “This was my wake-up call,” Michael solemnly declared. “I promise I’ll break up with her. In fact, that’s exactly what I was trying to do just now. You witnessed it yourself.”
    â€œDo you love her?” Karen asked, her anger subsiding and starting to turn into self-doubt.
    â€œNot really. I’m just a little infatuated with her.”
    Instead of appeasing his fiancée, however, this seemingly harmless comment only infuriated her more: “I don’t want to hear about your ... abominable infatuations!” she exploded.
    Michael felt obliged to switch tactics: “It’s you I love, Baby. You’re the woman of my life,” he said, walking towards Karen to give her a hug. She bristled under his touch. “I promise it will never happen again,” he added, hoping to soften her up. But Karen averted her eyes, with disgust. He pulled up her chin gently, obliging her to look him in the eyes. “Listen to me,” he said soothingly. “I mean it. This will never happen again, all right? It’s you I care about.”
    Karen hesitated. She felt too wounded to forgive him yet too proud to give up on their relationship. Because, for her, Michael was the only one. She didn’t want