I wake up and I don’t know where I am. An unfamiliar ceiling. Distant traffic noises. Bookshelves. A blue armchair with my velvet dress slung across it and a man’s tie draped over the dress. Then I remember. I turn my head and there’s Henry. So simple, as though I’ve been doing it all my life. He is sleeping with abandon, torqued into an unlikely shape as though he’s washed up on some beach, one arm over his eyes to shut out the morning, his long black hair splayed over the pillow. So simple. Here we are. Here and now, finally now.

　I get out of bed carefully. Henry’s bed is also his sofa. The springs squeak as I stand up. There’s not much space between the bed and the bookshelves, so I edge along until I make it into the hallway. The bathroom is tiny. I feel like Alice in Wonderland, grown huge and having to stick my arm out the window just so I can turn around. The ornate little radiator is clanking out heat. I pee and wash my hands and my face. And then I notice that there are two toothbrushes in the white porcelain toothbrush holder.

　I open the medicine cabinet. Razors, shaving cream, Listerine, Tylenol, aftershave, a blue marble, a toothpick, deodorant on the top shelf. Hand lotion, tampons, a diaphragm case, deodorant, lipstick, a bottle of multivitamins, a tube of spermicide on the bottom shelf. The lipstick is a very dark red.

　I stand there, holding the lipstick. I feel a little sick. I wonder what she looks like, what her name is. I wonder how long they’ve been going out. Long enough, I guess. I put the lipstick back, close the medicine cabinet. In the mirror I see myself, white-faced, hair flying in all directions. Well, whoever you are, I’m here now. You may be Henry’s past, but I’m his future. I smile at myself. My reflection grimaces back at me. I borrow Henry’s white terrycloth bathrobe from the back of the bathroom door. Underneath it on the hook is a pale blue silk robe. For no reason at all wearing his bathrobe makes me feel better.

　Back in the living room, Henry is still sleeping. I retrieve my watch from the windowsill.