"Okay."
“Is that a yes?”
"Yes, Evangeline."
The water in the tub has gone still. The candles are steady. The light from the bathroom window is the afternoon light now, long, warm on the tile.
"There are things I'd like to do," I say. "Tonight. I want to talk about them first."
"All right."
"Not in the tub."
"All right."
"Not right now."
"All right."
"After the tub I'll get you in a robe and I'll put you by the stove and I'll make tea and I'll sit across from you. I'll say the things. You'll say yes or no to each one. What you say yes to, we do. What you say no to, we don't."
"Okay."
"I want you to know I am not going to feel anything other than good about whatever you say no to."
"I know."
"I want you to say it even if it feels rude."
"I won't feel it's rude."
"I know you won't. That's not who would feel it's rude."
She lets the smallest smile move the corner of her mouth.
"You sound like you do this for a living," she says.
"I do not do this for a living."
"All right."
"I do my job for a living. I have not wanted anyone in this tub in a long time. I want you in this tub. I have things I enjoy sexually and I want to do it the way I am going to say I want to do it. That's all."
"All right."
"Let's get you out."
She lets my wrist go. She pushes herself up out of the water. The water runs down her. I don't look at her body although I do want to. I look at her face. I stand. I pick the big folded towel off the bench. I hold it open. She steps out of the tub onto the bath mat, one hand on my shoulder for balance, and she steps into the towel, and I close it around her, and I do not hold her against me.
"Okay," I say.
"Okay."
I dry her shoulders through the towel. I dry her arms. I rub her hair once, light, with a second towel, and I leave it.
"Robe," I say.
"Bedroom."
