The husband and wife have a movie night for a few friends. Some of them bring snacks. The client brings a giant cooked fish in a baking dish. It’s not a movie snack and they’ve already had dinner but whatever. Wow, the husband says. Look at that, he says. The wife nods. The client takes her shoes off and splays herself on their floor like the house belongs to her, looks at the husband moony-eyed. There’s nothing subtle about it. The wife resists an impulse to snuggle up to her husband, stare down moony eyes. They watch the movie. The movie ends. The husband walks the client and her girlfriend out to their car across the street. The wife tries to think of one time the husband ever walked anyone from their house to their car across the street. The wife watches them from behind the blinds, like something might actually happen between them in front of their house. Nothing happens between them in front of their house. The wife is acting like a dope. Her husband has always loved her madly. The husband comes back in. She brought a big fish, wasn’t that nice? She wishes to renounce this part of herself. It flares up so rarely that she does not consider it a critical part of her character, but when it does, it can come with an intensity that makes up the difference.