He called on a Sunday morning, which was unusual because we had a rhythm now and Sunday was not part of it.
"Can I take you to breakfast?" he asked.
A pause from me.
"Not to talk about the marriage," he said. "Just breakfast. As two people who are going to be raising a child together and should probably know how to sit across from each other."
That was reasonable. I said yes.
He chose a diner on the Upper West Side, the kind of place with paper napkins and coffee that came immediately and nobody tried to describe the menu to you. We sat in a booth and ordered and it was strange at first, the way all honest things are strange before they become ordinary.
"How are you feeling?" he asked. "About the pregnancy."
"Good," I said. "She's moving a lot now. She seems very opinionated."
He s
