He looks at me with his new tragic expression and says he’ll be in touch if I want him to be, which makes me laugh a high-pitched, maniacal laugh and fling the butter dish across the room. I think of how proud Natalie will be when she hears that I’m not putting up with being treated this way, that I am actually throwing crockery. And then I start to cry, because I know that I am supremely unlovable in a very deep, unfixable way.
