I nodded, wandering back to the kitchen in a daze, still trying to sort through what had just happened. She had to assume we’d have dinner, so why had she stopped to eat? And why hadn’t she checked her phone? How was it that my wife could feel no need to check in on her family? I refilled her glass, returning to the dining room wanting to ask more questions, but by then, Vivian had various outfits either spread on the table or draped over the back of the chairs.

“Thanks, hon,” she said, reaching for the glass. She kissed me again and set her glass aside without taking a sip. “I bought a navy blue suit, too. It’s gorgeous, but it was a little big in the hips, so I’m having it altered,” she began, then proceeded to present one outfit after another. As she did, I caught sight of one of the receipts from the bags and felt my heart skip a beat. The total, on that one receipt, was more than half the mortgage.

“Are you okay?” she asked when she was finished. “You seem like you’re upset.”

“I’m just wondering why you didn’t call me.”

“I already told you. I was busy.”

“I know, but…”

“But what?” she asked, her eyes flashing. “It’s not like you called and texted every minute when you were at work either.”

“You were shopping.”

“For work,” she said, the anger in her voice now plain. “Do you think I wanted to stay up half the night and then race around all afternoon? But you didn’t give me much of a choice, did you? I have to work because you quit your job. And don’t pretend I didn’t see you inspecting those receipts, so before you get on that high horse again, maybe you should remind yourself that your little adventure has cost a lot more than I spent today, so maybe you should look in the mirror.”

“Vivian…”

“You need to stop acting like I’m the bad guy. You’re not exactly perfect.”

“I never said I was.”

“Then stop finding fault with everything I do.”

“I’m not…”

By then, however, she’d already left the dining room.

For the next half hour, we avoided each other. Or rather, she avoided me. She’d always been better at it than I was. I know because I kept peeking at her, hoping to detect a thaw in her mood, and found myself wondering why we couldn’t seem to discuss anything that bothered me without it turning into an argument.

I grilled the tuna and the steak, hoping she’d at least taste the food, and set the table on the back porch. After bringing the food over, I called for Vivian, only to see her emerge with London in tow.

I put small portions on both their plates and though both Vivian and London took a few bites, my wife’s silent treatment continued. If there was one positive from the meal, it was that London didn’t seem to notice, since she and her mom chatted as though I wasn’t there at all.

By the time we finished dinner, I was as annoyed with Vivian as she was with me. I went to the den and fired up my computer, thinking I’d continue working on my presentations, but it turned out to be a pointless exercise, since I continued to replay all that had happened.

I couldn’t escape a gnawing sense of failure. Somehow, I’d blown it again, even though I wasn’t sure exactly what it was I’d done so wrong. By then, Vivian had already begun the process of getting London ready for bed and I heard her as she descended the steps.

“She’s ready for a story,” she said. “Not a long one, though. She’s already yawning.”

“All right,” I said, and in her expression, I thought I saw the same kind of remorse that I was feeling about the evening. “Hey,” I said, reaching for her hand. “I’m sorry about the way tonight turned out.”

She shrugged. “It’s been a stressful week for both of us.”

I read to London and kissed her goodnight; when I found Vivian in the family room, she was already in her pajamas, a magazine open in her lap, and the television turned to some reality show.

“Hey,” she said, as soon as I sat beside her, seemingly more interested in the magazine than me. “I had to change out of my clothes into something comfy. I’m wiped out. I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to last before turning in.”

I understood what she hadn’t specifically verbalized: The idea that the two of us might make love later was out of the question.

“I’m tired, too.”

“I can’t believe she’ll be starting school next month. It doesn’t seem possible.”

“I still don’t know why they start so early,” I said, picking up the thread of the conversation. “Didn’t we always start school after Labor Day when we were in school? I mean, why August twenty-fifth?”

“I have no idea. Something about the mandatory number of school days, I think.”

I reached for the remote control. “Would you mind if I found something else to watch?”

Her eyes suddenly flashed toward the TV. “I was watching that. I just wanted something brainless to help me unwind.”

I put the remote control down. For a while, neither of us said anything. Finally: “What do you want to do tomorrow?”

“I’m not sure yet. I know I have to pick up the suit that’s getting tailored, but that’s about it. Why? What are you thinking?”

“Whatever you’d like to do. You’ve been so busy this week, we haven’t been able to spend much time together.”