11

And that was it. It felt magical. He wasn’t with the blond woman after all, and after the intermission he switched seats to be next to me. We went back to the opera on our first anniversary, and I thought we’d do it every year for the rest of our lives.

So much for that. So much for telling the story at the wedding reception and everybody saying, Ahh …

“Oh God.” Ben is peering at me. “I’m sorry. I’ve said something. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” I smile hastily and blink. “Just … everything. You know. Life.” “Exactly. Exactly.” He nods fervently as though I’ve solved some massive

problem he was wrestling with. “Lotts, do you feel as fucked up by life as I do?” “Yes.” I take a deep slug of wine. “Yes, I do. Even more so.”

“When I was eighteen, when we were out there, I knew what I was about.” Ben is staring moodily into space. “I had clarity. But you start out in life and somehow it all gets … corroded. Corrupted. Everything closes in on you, you know what I mean? There’s no escape. There’