“Do you want to eat?” I say in a voice that sounds like it isn’t my own. “Yes,” he says, “but first, let me jump in the shower. I feel like I’m covered in chemicals. It’ll be five minutes. I promise.” “And maybe tonight,” I add, “you and I can . . . you know . . .” He grimaces, which is the last reaction I would expect from a red-blooded male whose wife just told him he was going to get lucky tonight. “Talia, honey, I’m so beat. I . . . I’d probably fall asleep in the middle of it. Rain check?”
