At some point during the evening, while Vic was at work, Matt had gone back to his own small apartment to get “a few things.” His words. But as they got ready for bed, Vic found half the medicine cabinet above the bathroom sink filled with things that weren’t his—a toothbrush and half-used tube of toothpaste in some minty flavor he didn’t buy, dandruff shampoo, an electric razor much newer than his battered Gillette, and a collection of cologne that smelled spicy and foreign to him. A small section of the closet in his bedroom had also been cleared to make room for a few dress shirts and some slacks Vic could never hope to fit into. On the floor a pair of black polished shoes gleamed up at him in the lamp light. A book now sat on the bedside table, a pair of thin reading glasses propped on
