“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m a little tired.”

If she’d said this last week, he might’ve backed down, but instead he did what he would’ve instructed a patient to do in a similar situation-don’t be passive, be assertive; ask for what you want and you’ll get it- and he said, “I like it when we make love and we’re both tired. I think it’s sexy.”

That was perfect- rather than accusing her of not wanting to have sex, he’d expressed himself in a positive way without getting confrontational.

“Okay,” she said, “but I have to do the dishes first and clean up.”

“I’ll help,” he said eagerly.

He hardly ever helped her clean up after dinner- another common complaint of hers- and he could tell how much she appreciated him making the extra effort.

Later, he entered their bedroom, holding the bag with the cheerleader’s outfit behind his back. She was lying in bed in her bathrobe, reading some hardcover novel.

“I got something for you,” he said.

“What?” She seemed more worried than intrigued.

“You have to close your eyes,” he said.

She smiled as if she thought he was joking and went back to reading.

“I’m serious,” he said.

She looked at him again and asked, “What is it?”

“You have to close your eyes,” he said.

She breathed deeply, as if it would take an enormous effort, then finally shut her eyes.

“No peeking,” he said as he took the blue and gold outfit out of the bag. Then he said, “Okay, open up.”

Her reaction wasn’t exactly what he’d expected. She seemed, if not shocked, then slightly offended.

“What is that?” she asked.

“What does it look like?” he said, smiling, waiting for her to join in.

“You don’t expect me to wear that, do you?”

“What’s wrong? I remember you said you had a fantasy about this, right?”

“When did I tell you that? When I was twenty- five? Do you seriously think I’m going to put that thing on?”

She’d told him about her cheerleader fantasy a few years ago, okay, maybe five years ago tops, but he didn’t want to get into an argument about it. At the same time, he didn’t want to keep his resentful feelings to himself.

Trying to express himself in a nonthreatening way, he said, “I thought you’d be excited. But if you don’t feel comfortable about it I understand, though I thought you’d be… I don’t know… turned on by it.”

“What is that thing, a size two? Even if I wanted to put it on, I’d have to use a shoehorn to get into it. Come on, what did you expect me to do, get up on the bed and do a cheer for you?”

Actually that was exactly what Adam had expected her to do, but he was starting to feel attacked, belittled, and he said, “I feel like you’re getting upset with me for no reason. I feel resentful toward you right now.”

“Can you please stop talking to me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re one of your fucking patients. I’m not your therapist, I’m your wife.”

He knew this was just more of her stonewalling, her typical way of deflecting conflict.

Validating her rather than confronting her, he said, “I understand if you don’t want to wear it. I just want to work on ways for us to get closer in this marriage.”

“This is how you get closer?” she said. “We haven’t made love in I don’t know how long and then you come home with some outfit an anorexic sixteenyear- old would wear, talking to me like you’re lying on a couch?”

“I feel like you’re not being fair,” he said. “I feel like you’re purposely distorting everything I-”

“Oh, stop with that crap,” she said. “What if I came home, out of the blue, with some slinky Speedo and made you put it on?”

She was acting defensive again, but he remained calm and objective and said, “First of all, I’m not making you do anything. Second of all, if I’d told you I had a fantasy about wearing a Speedo, no, I wouldn’t be upset at all.”

“Fine,” she said, “I’ll get you a Speedo tomorrow and you can wear it. I’ll make sure it’s four sizes too small too.”

“Why do you always have to-” He caught himself using the word “always,” which was disrespectful. He took a couple of deep breaths to subdue his anger, not wanting to get sucked into an argument, then said, “If it’s something you feel uncomfortable with, I understand. I can return it, it’s no big deal.” He put the cheerleader’s outfit back into the bag and got into bed with her.

He started kissing her neck and under her chin. She was stiff, not reacting at all.

Finally she said, “Well, you really did a good job of setting the mood, didn’t you?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. He always told his patients to compliment their lovers, so he said, “You look so beautiful tonight.”

“You’re just saying that,” she said.

“No, honestly,” he said. “I know I haven’t been telling you that nearly enough lately, but it’s true, you look very beautiful.”

He started kissing her again, undoing her robe. During sex, he continued to kiss her and looked in her eyes as much as possible because in a marriage counseling session she’d said that it bothered her that he didn’t look into her eyes when they made love and that made her feel distant. Maybe he was overdoing it because she seemed uncomfortable and kept looking away.

“Is something wrong?” he asked assertively.

“You keep staring at me,” she said.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s just you’re so beautiful, I can’t stop looking at you.”

Finally, after they switched from the missionary to the woman- on- top positions several times, Dana seemed to have an orgasm. He was starting to lose his erection, which had been happening a lot the last few years, so he did what sometimes worked- he blurred his vision and imagined Dana was Sharon.

“Is everything okay?” Dana asked.

Adam didn’t know if she meant okay with his erection or if she’d noticed the weird look in his eyes.

“Fine,” he said and went back to imagining Sharon’s full, heavy breasts, the scent of her perfume. At one point he almost blurted out Sharon’s name, but he managed to restrain himself.

Adam lay in bed next to Dana, not touching her. She was sleeping soundly, snoring, but he was restless. Finally he went downstairs to get a snack and watch some TV.

It was past midnight, and Marissa wasn’t home yet. Now that Adam was on his way to fixing his marriage, he wanted to make it two for two and improve his relationship with his daughter. He was tired of Marissa and all of her acting out and attention- seeking behavior; it was time for some serious tough love. From now on, for as long as she was living in his house, he wasn’t going to let her come and go as she pleased. She was going to have to tell him where she was and who she was with and when she was coming home. He wasn’t going to allow any more drugs in the house- that bong was going in the garbage pronto, that was for sure- and he wasn’t going to let her parade strange boyfriends through the house anymore either. He was going to meet all her boyfriends first, and if she didn’t like it she could pack her things and move out.

He started falling asleep on the couch, so he went back upstairs. As soon as he lay down he heard voices from outside, Marissa and somebody else, a guy. He went to the window and looked out. From his angle, he couldn’t see them; they were probably right below him, near the front door. He couldn’t make out what they were saying either, and then for a little while he couldn’t hear them at all. The police car was still there, parked out in front, hopefully for the last night. Police protection seemed so unnecessary now.

Adam heard Marissa call out, “Good night,” and then he saw a guy he’d never seen before- longish hair, a leather jacket- heading away from the house toward the sidewalk. The guy didn’t exactly look like a doctor or a lawyer. God, where did she find these losers?

Adam heard Marissa’s footsteps on the stairs. He waited until he heard the door to her room close; then he went down to make sure she’d set the alarm properly.