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she got out of bed and roamed her apartment, dipping into the papier-mâché cigarette box and lighting up. She had given up smoking, but one stale cigarette remained. The drag of smoke choked her and she doubled up coughing. When she quieted, she punched out the cigarette and sat on the floor with her head against the couch’s edge and continued to reminisce.
    It was because the issue of Naomi possibly moving to Washington had risen again. A black friend from the African Rescue Corps against female genital mutilation wanted a bright young woman to join her group in Washington, an important rights group, well funded. Out of the blue, Naomi had been offered a job. It came at a time when yet another issue gnawed at her. They had become careless about birth control and she had not told him she was pregnant, even though she knew it was dishonest to keep it from him. The knowledge would have made him ecstatic. It was exactly what he wanted. Home. Hearth. Family.
    â€œMarry me. I’ll do anything. Be anything.” He pleaded, cajoled, nagged. When she gently put it off he would probe her for days.
    â€œIs it because I’m not a big bleeding heart? I swear, I’ll become one. I’ll stand at your side.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œBecause I’m just a salesman? I haven’t got the prestige?”
    â€œDon’t, Barney. It’s wrong….”
    â€œBut it must be true. Why then? Don’t you love me enough?”
    â€œI love you deeply.”
    â€œThen why? Because I’m a ‘scutch’?”
    â€œThat is ridiculous.”
    â€œWhy then? Why?”
    In their hearts, they both knew why.
    He had been away a week at a convention in Los Angeles, and with smartphones booming, his profits were skyrocketing. She had decided not to go with him, more as a test of separation than out of genuine reluctance. She had it in her mind to accept the Washington job and offer a split residence deal. A weekend in Washington, a weekend in New York. It would be a test of the endurance of their relationship, a challenge. Caring also meant compromise.
Didn’t it?
    Unfortunately, her pregnancy had complicated matters and she had to decide whether or not to keep the baby. Fetus? Baby? It had no life, was barely five weeks from conception. On many a cold night, she had remonstrated with herself, forcing the distinction on her conscience. It was one thing to be pro-choice for other people, but something else when it happened to you. In his absence, she had agonized over it. Years later, she was still agonizing.
    He returned home filled with tales of personal success. He had impressed so-and-so. His bosses had hinted that he was going places. He was becoming a real corporate man.
    â€œIt’s a game,” he told her, “like politics.” He had to tickle the right buttons, kiss the right butts. The goal was getting ahead.
    â€œIn politics, you have to have some ideology,” she told him.
    â€œLiberals always say that.”
    â€œAt least if you were a conservative, I could understand,” she berated. “You’re nothing.”
    â€œNot nothing. A man without a label.”
    â€œA hired gun.”
    â€œRight. I’ll fight under any flag that pays enough.”
    The memory of that night had taken on vibrant colors in her mind. Sometimes they became so bright they nearly blinded her and she had to kill the lights of remembering. She decided to tell him about her decision to accept the Washington job. His reaction would determine the future of the baby. The coming baby meant marriage. Permanence. The job in Washington meant personal satisfaction for her. She wanted it all. As he talked about his successes, she waited for the right moment to tell him.
    â€œI have a surprise,” he said, coming out of the bathroom. She was sweet smelling and powdered after her bath. He was wearing a paisley robe, bare beneath. Sitting at the foot of the bed, he looked at