Substitute for Love by Karin Kallmaker

with a good solution. You’re very good at that.”
    His hands were warm on her back. Was this her lot in life? He wanted her, which was uncharacteristic. He preferred the dark of night, after meditation, and with due consideration for her own precautions. Ever since her impetuous fling across his office and into his arms, he had decided when they would make love. His beard burned her throat, as it always did, and she had to dig down, a very long way, to pretend. It usually wasn’t so hard.
    He mistook her gasp for desire and drew her into the bedroom. Feeling dazed, she turned back the bedclothes and removed all the layers she habitually wore: thick pullover, button-down shirt, jeans, knee socks, her underthings. He neatly folded his own sweatshirt and jeans and set them on the chair. He was in bed before she was, and she slid over to his side because he expected it. She didn’t know why she felt so dead. She wanted to tell him she wasn’t in the mood, but couldn’t begin to explain why. The rustle of the condom packet sliced like a razor on her nerves.
    He mistook her gasp again — he couldn’t know that it hurt, a little, because she was not aroused. His elbow came down on her wrist and she suddenly felt as if they didn’t fit, not the way Tori and Geena had fit. The image of them clinging to each other with unspoken commitment and caring blazed behind her closed lids. She knew Clay would not be inside her much longer. It was getting easier to pretend.
    It didn’t seem fair, afterward, that he would so easily drop off to sleep. She had too many equations clamoring to be solved.
    She cleaned up and then curled on the sofa in her robe until her feet were like ice. She had thought she wanted to be an evolved being, the kind of person that Clay admired. She had thought he would help her get there. He likes the paycheck just fine.
    This was all Jo’s fault. And Jim Felker’s. It couldn’t be hers.
    Bed was warmer, even if she couldn’t sleep. She wished desperately for an electric blanket, but they were just one more way that the human animal lost touch with the natural world. She moved closer to Clay, who was always warm, and asked him, in that quiet voice with the edge she had not realized was anger, “So this is my lot in life?” He slept on.
    Solve for the simplest answer. God, she was a fool. No one lets you grow up. You just do. She pushed her frozen feet under his legs and occupied her mind with volume equations where the constant was the bulk of her belongings and the variable was the number of boxes she would need.

3
    Things did not seem so bleak in the morning. Sometime before dawn the rain stopped and Holly had finally fallen asleep. Clay woke at sunrise, as always, and was well into his yoga routine before Holly padded out of the bedroom. His rigid adherence to yoga had kept him incredibly limber. This morning, after such a bad night, the sight of his lanky but graceful form doing something so routine was comforting. He had always said yoga would help her both physically and mentally, but she never seemed able to find the time.
    She made tea and tossed together curried tofu and chopped Boca burgers over leftover rice and carrots for breakfast. He joined her while it was still steaming.
    He read the paper while they ate, and Holly thought about her impulse last night to call it quits. Where had that come from? They had eight peaceful and companionable years together. Why would she throw that over? Nothing from last night seemed at all clear.
    “We should probably start around four,” he said.
    She blinked at him.
    “Though I suppose leaving work early is now moot. We could leave even earlier — get a jump on the weekend traffic.”
    They were attending his department chair’s wedding in Ventura. She’d completely forgotten. Her Palm Pilot would have reminded her later this morning.
    “I’m having lunch with Tori from work, but we could leave after that.”
    He arched his eyebrows. “Why the