I was mad at Harold and he was exasperated with me. This morning, before we picked my mother up, he had said, “You should pay for the exterminators, because Mirugai is your cat and so they’re your fleas. It’s only fair.” None of our friends could ever believe we fight over something as stupid as fleas, but they would also never believe that our problems are much, much deeper than that, so deep I don’t even know where the bottom is. And now that my mother is here . . . we have to pretend nothing is the matter.