"Aspirin. No. Never touch the stuff. They're scared of me. Purdy and Moss and them. Think I'm a psycho."

"Maybe."

"I don't mind."

"I'm not sure that's all of it."

"Purdy doesn't know a thing about the world I come from. The world his fucking son comes from."

"This is really about his wife."

"Melinda? She's okay. Just another rich bitch. Maybe I should take them all out. I've got PTSD. Got papers on it. Maybe I could do that. Live rent-free in a psych ward for the rest of my life."

"Don't do that."

"No?"

"Would Nathalie want that?"

"Would she want me to take the money?"

"I don't know."

"No, you don't. You don't know at all. Tell them I'll sleep on it. Which means I'll get high on it. Maybe the dragon will whisper the answer to me."

"I'm here, Don."

"That's your problem," he said, winced out of his chair. I followed him into the living room. Bernie clutched a pillow. A pterodactyl soared above some coastal cliffs.

"Nice to meet you, Bernie."

"Nice," said Bernie.

"Look at the man, Bernie," I said. "Say goodbye."

"Goodbye."

"The asteroid didn't fall on their heads," said Don.

Bernie stared up at Don.

"What about the asteroid?" he said.

"It didn't kill the dinosaurs," Don said. "It just killed everything else. The plants. The sunlight. It was cold and dark and there was nothing to eat. The dinosaurs got so sad, they died."

"In Connecticut?" said Bernie.

"Especially in Connecticut," said Don, heaved himself out the door.

Twenty-four

Our world at an end, we watched TV. We'd endured another silent meal, though not truly silent. We had to talk to Bernie, answer his questions about the recent visitor, or I had to, kept things vague, tried to steer the subject back to asteroids, comets, galactic disturbance. Maura did not speak, cut her lemon chicken into rectilinear bites.

"Daddy," said Bernie. "Are you going to see Aiden's mommy again?"

Maura raised an eyebrow, stacked her tiny bricks of meat.

"That was a playdate, Bernie," I said.

"At a diner."

"Right," I said. "So if you want to play with Aiden again we can do that, no problem."

"Okay," said Bernie.

"Eat some more broccoli," I said.

Maura tapped her fork. You weren't supposed to push food, even broccoli. It would make them hate broccoli, you.

"Or don't," I added. "Eat what you like. Those fish nuggets look good."

"They look a little fancy," said Bernie.

This was the kind of adorable that once had Maura and I grinning crazily at each other, but my wife stood now and walked to the sink, scraped her plate.

"Daddy's going to tell you a story and tuck you in, sweetie," she said.

Bernie fell asleep before the evil. The children picked their berries. The trolls slumbered in their caves.

The spires of the castle of the vintage cardigan king pierced the mist.

Maura and I took our places in the living room, turned on the television, moved through the stations of the stations. We still did not own the devices that let you skip the commercials. Would we always be part of the slow television movement? Would we always be a we?

We jumped from pundit to pundit, then on to basketball, Albanian cooking, endangered voles,America's Top Topiary Designers,America's Toughest Back-up Generators,The Amazing Class Struggle, the catfish channel, a show called, simply,Airstrikes!

We watched television in the old way and it was good.

Maybe the animator could just scram. No fester, no rot. Maybe we didn't have to talk about it. Maybe that was the problem. We yapped too much. We weren't equipped.

"I love you, Maura," I said. "I don't know what's going on, but I'm also fine with never knowing. If you can end it, come back to me."

"How can you be fine with never knowing?"

"What is there to know?"

"What do you want to know?"

"I want to know what's happening between you and Paul. But I'm saying I can live without knowing if whatever it is stops happening."

"Paul's gay."

"Really?"

"The only person I've ever fucked from the office is Candace. And that was a few years ago."

"Are you gay?"

"Once in a while. Not really. You knew that."

"Well, yeah, in that sense. I mean, like, in Greenpoint, I was gay, too."

"You were a spaz."

"I'm a sensualist."

"Okay, Milo."

"Have there been others?" I said.

"Others?"

"Besides Candace."

"I thought you were fine never knowing."

"I didn't realize how much there was not to know."

"What do you want, Milo? A signed confession? A show trial?"

"What happened?" I said. "I was out there pounding the pave-o-mento! What the hell happened to us?"

"The pave-o-what?"

"Forget it."

"What do you want, Milo? What are you asking for?"

"Asking?"

"What's the give?" said Maura. "A divorce? A stale but stable marriage? A poison one? What about Bernie? Do we stay together for the sake of Bernie? Do we split up for the sake of Bernie? Different websites advise differently."

"You're way ahead of me," I said. "I just love you."

"That's a cop-out, Milo."

"How can that be a cop-out?"

"God," said Maura, "we're arguing like a bunch of pussies."

"Do you love me, Maura?"

"Fine, forget it."

"Forget what?"

"This crisis. It's not worth it."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll stop fucking Paul."

"I thought it was just Candace. I thought you said Paul was gay."

"You're like from another century. Nobody cares what anybody is."

"You're from the same century I am."

"Poor Milo. What are you asking for?"

"From you?"

"From all of it."

"I don't know," I said. "I guess what I really-"

"Look," said Maura. "Look there."

It was Caller I Do. This was no surprise. It was on heavy rotation these days, a new classic. The male lead scrunched in a steel-domed turret in a sandbox in Central Park, wept. He'd just seen the woman he loved kiss a much younger man on her office softball team. His cell phone blinked the name and number of the woman, who was calling to tell him the younger man was not a rival lover but the office mailboy, a virgin soon headed to the hospice to die of leukemia. The kiss had been an innocent goodbye gift, but the man was too blinded by tears to see his cell phone display.

"I love this part," said Maura. "I mean, I hate it."

"We used to hate this together," I said.

"Maybe we can get back to that place," said Maura.

"Let's have an appointment," I said.

"I'm touched out."

"I thought you were in."

"I'm out again."

"Oh."

"We'll get there, baby," said Maura. "Not yet. Soon."

"I want to show you something," I said. "A part of my life. I want to share it with you."

I fetched my laptop, found Spreadsheet Spreaders. Maura peered over at the screen.

"Is that what you like?"

"I like you."

"Take out your cock," she said.

I unzipped my fly, tugged myself out.

"Do your business while I watch the end of the movie."

I scuttled over to the other end of the sofa, propped the laptop on a pillow. I did what she said, but she never looked over. I wanted her to look over. I tried to keep everything on my hand.

"Done?" she said.

"Yes."

"Okay," said Maura. "I love you, Milo. We are changing, our lives are changing. I don't know if we are finished or not. But we need a little break. Go to your mother's tomorrow."

"But what about Bernie?"

"It's just for a few days. So I can think. So you can think. Figure out what the hell you are doing with your life. With Purdy."

"What does this have to do with Purdy?"

"I need you to figure that out. Now go to the kitchen and wipe your hand."