I kept thinking I’d tell her that I didn’t want us to do it, that we were going to call it off. At lunch in the cafetena I imagined how authoritative my voice would be, how I would bring my fist down on the table for emphasis, how she would look annoyed and then accepting and how, afterward, our relationship would be ever so slightly changed, how she would listen to me and listen when I said I didn’t want to do something, how we would finally be equal.
