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I’d been reaching for my wine and stopped with my hand around the stem.

Children had always been part of the picture in the same way a house, a big yard, a good school district, and a garage full of things a man bought because a house required them. No one had ever asked me the question, assuming that of course I’d want kids.

“Yes,” I said.

“How many?”

I could’ve said two or three. I could’ve said whatever we’re blessed with and sounded like someone’s aunt. Instead I looked at the baby, who had released his father’s tie and was trying to feed himself a piece of spaghetti.

“I don’t know,” I said. “More than one, I think. I’d like them to spend their childhood in the same house, not move them around.”

Lorrie’s face shifted so quickly I might have missed it if I hadn’t already been watching her closely.

“What?” I asked.

She reached for her water. “That was a good answer.”

Her voice had gone quiet, and for reasons I couldn’t name, I wished I could reach across the table and take her hand, but the waiter arrived with our plates and the moment disappeared under hot food and grated cheese.

We ate, drank Chianti, and she told me about her lunch with Kim the other day. Lorrie ate the crisp edges of her eggplant first as I watched her and felt a sudden, foolish desire to know every small habit she had.

I’d spent most of the summer letting other people make decisions. It was easier that way. My parents were pleased, her parents were pleased, and Lorrie laughed at my jokes often enough that I told myself the rest would sort itself out.

“Mother talked to your mother this morning,” I said.

Lorrie put down her fork and took a sip of Chianti. “That sounds ominous.”

“It involved roses.”

“Oh no.”

“White roses. She said cream roses looked yellow under the ballroom lights.”

“The dinner has become very elaborate for an end of summer family dinner,” she said.

I set my fork down.

“I know what it looks like,” I said.

“What does it look like?” She shifted in her seat.

“As though everyone has decided for us.”

Her gaze met mine. “And have they?”

“No.”

I wanted that to be enough, but could tell that it wasn’t as she waited.

“No,” I said again, “but I’ve let them act as if they have.”

“Why?”

I looked down at my plate for a second. The right answer wasn’t hard to find. It was simply hard to admit while she sat across from me in candlelight, beautiful and wary.

“Because it was easy,” I said.

She didn’t move.