10 am, Thom's house.

Within seconds, I was questioning my own motives for the visit because, instinctively, all I focused on were the most painful, intimate things: Thom's bowl of cereal from this morning and, on the floor, the novel I'd posted the week before. Everywhere I looked was a reminder of the reality of his life, all that I'd lost. I was also aware, to some degree, of polishing this pain upon my sleeve, and quite unsure why. Karen entered the kitchen and, dressed casually, continued the theme of life merely humming along. And yet, on closer inspection I wondered at how clean, how artfully casual she seemed and decided, without a doubt, she'd prepared for me. I also became more confident, more aroused, noticing that Karen was observing the protocol of the occasion. We were not talking of, or even mentioning, our son. And so it was we spoke of current plans, parents, mutual friends, all with the temporary, inconclusive air, of opinions and plans that could be entirely different, or even irrelevant, in five minutes time. We were flirting. During this insane dance, I was keenly aware of Karen's lips, the rush of blood, and waited only for a measured calm, as if this were an entirely considered seduction, which, in fact, it was.

I could never have expected George to bollocks it up. Karen has only briefly met him. George and I bonded over our respective divorces and thereafter the whiff of misery has sustained our friendship. I felt compelled to answer Karen's question respectfully, as if in describing George's crisis, I was being somehow loyal to my own turmoil. And so, as we returned to ourselves, the flirting eased off. And for a while we began to luxuriate in ourselves as mature, responsible citizens. After all, we could continue this another time. I then privately luxuriated in my own sheer luck. I had an exwife who now understood my infidelities. She knew my body, the reach of my desires. I could talk of a Rubens nude without her doubting my integrity. She knew I was professorial about my body, and those of others, accepting me as a man. A man in full. And yet, 0f course, could never live with me again and so, as we kissed goodbye, I held her hip and, present in our standing bodies, allowed the moment to acknowledge, or test, my sheer good luck. I kissed her mouth and was gone.