I left her for a stupid reason: to screw you. But I’m not talking about this. I’m too drunk. We will talk in the morning. I will leave here tomorrow, with or without her. And I will file for a divorce. All of this is clear, and then the deck sways.

“Do you remember why you left her?” Tish asks.

I won’t answer that. “You think I have the bandwidth to sell my company, hang out with you, and start something up with my ex-wife?” I am too drunk. I need to stand up, get some blood flowing, but I’m not sure I could without toppling over. I try to reach for Tish’s hand, but she pulls it away.

Tish stands. She’s mad, I realize, really mad. “It’s time to stop the lies. I know all about your plans to dump me for her after the sale went through. Which it did. Yesterday. But surprise, I swooped you away to Telluride. One step ahead of you, John.”

Tish disappears inside the condo, and I take stock of my predicament. It’s funny. That’s all I can think. How did she know? And when I think that, I start to chuckle. And then, before I know it, I’m laughing so hard tears spill from my eyes and roll down my cheeks. I’m laughing so hard now I can’t catch my breath.

The deck sways under my feet again and I gasp for air as I stand, trying to follow Tish inside. I’ll do it tonight. I owe it to her to tell her I’m finished.

CHAPTER 11

TISH

I pull the chicken dish out of the oven, an ugly flowery pot holder covering my hand, and poke at the center with a fork. All I need to do is reheat it, but I’ve been known to ruin a dish simply by giving it too much heat. I know, I’m intense about everything. Plus, I never cared much for cooking or for lingering around in the kitchen. I like food from cans and drive-through windows, and most recently, from my favorite gourmet restaurants in town. I mean, lobster dinner for two delivered to your door is a delicious option, especially since John thought I made it from scratch, the fool.

I hear him outside, talking to himself and laughing. I guess he’s drunk. I do make a mean margarita, and with the altitude and the lies he’s holding inside, he’s probably a wreck. I should keep up appearances and get some food in him before he passes out. I can’t believe he won’t admit what he’s done wrong, especially since he’s buzzed. But he acts all innocent and loving.

“I’m starving out here. Something smells good.”

Charming that he yells to me like a servant. For some reason the phrase pretty please with a cherry on top pops into my head. I chuckle.

“I’ll be right out,” I yell back. I grab the dish and shove it all into the microwave, push the reheat button, and close the door. I should have used it all along. The microwave dings, and voilà, a perfectly reheated chicken enchilada dish can be served. I’m glad I had the housekeeper freeze some meals. They come in handy at times like this when your husband gets trashed, fast, with a little help from yours truly.

I still can’t believe I have a housekeeper—sorry, house manager—for each home. How far I’ve come since childhood. I think of my mom. Another woman in her house wouldn’t have lasted a day. I barely survived.

I start to laugh, imagining my mom with a house manager of all things. But then I see my first stepdad. Just before he’s going to throw something. Just before all hell would break loose. John sort of reminds me of good old Dad about now. Bellowing orders. I don’t remember him much. Mom replaced him with another like she did my real dad. But I remember his anger, things breaking, me hiding.

I was always hiding when I was a child.

I place the glass dish on the island. I just want to stop this, stop John. Them. Back with Kate? How dare he? He will not humiliate me like this. They will not humiliate me like this.

I cut the enchilada and use a spoon to coat his meal with salsa. John should eat. I cooked dinner. He will have food in his stomach. It’s date night.

I walk to the deck with a smile, enjoying the dark silhouette of the mountain, like a serpent guarding the town. I place the plate in front of John and note how he’s sloping to the side. Gross.

He’s on the phone. “John, who are you talking to?”

“Oh, hi, Tish. It’s nobody,” he slurs, still leaning to the right.

“John, it’s time for you to say goodbye. It’s time to eat something. You’ve had too much to drink.” I use a commanding voice, and he snaps to it.

“Tish says I have to go now. Bye-bye.” He stabs at the “End” button.

It’s hard to watch as his fingers pick clumsily at the phone like a toddler, and his head tilts to the side. I wonder what he said before I caught him. Whatever it was, I’ll deal with it later.

“Here, let me help you.” I cut a bite and put it on the fork. Together we guide it into his mouth. Captain of industry, really?

I watch closely as he chews and swallows. It’s time for another. Where’s the bib?

“Thanks,” John manages as he takes another bite. He leans back in the chair, midchew.

“Hey, wait, chew that. You’ll choke.” I slap his cheek.

John barely responds. I’m worried he’ll fall asleep before he swallows his bite. “Hey. Hey!” I push his shoulders forward from behind, and he wakes up. “Chew, John.”

I watch with relief as he does what I say. I can’t have him die choking on a chicken enchilada on the deck. How embarrassing. Ashlyn would kill me.

As I watch him chew, I think more about little Ashlyn. She was a teenager when I met her, a spoiled only child. Meanwhile, I came from another world. I couldn’t imagine the kind of gilded childhood she had. The organic packed lunch and a ride to school every day, even though school was just a block away. The kind of childhood where you earned ribbons just for being there, where praise flowed like a river, and the real world never intruded with problems like bad teeth or too-short pants.

There weren’t any ribbons in my bedroom, but to be honest, I never really had a room to myself. There was a curtain hanging between my mom’s bed and mine. It didn’t seem to mean anything, not to anyone. A curtain isn’t a locked door. It’s something to be pushed aside, ignored.

I shudder. No, I can’t blame Ashlyn for becoming the teenager she became. For being the woman she is today.

But you shouldn’t blame me for who I became, either. We’re all creatures of our environment. I’m the type of person who figures out how to get ahead. And it worked out for both of us. Ashlyn needed a little real-world experience, and I needed an ally in the office. So when I say that her little internship was all my idea, believe me, it was. If it weren’t for me, Ashlyn would have spent another summer lying by the pool at the country club, flirting with the boys, and perfecting her suntan. It’s too bad she turned on me once she started working at EventCo.

Shit. John’s head is on the table. He’s literally passed out on our deck. I cannot have anyone zipping by on the gondola seeing this. I mean, he’s in the news now, with the IPO. This is unacceptable.

“John, John, wake up!” I shake him, but there is no response. OK, deep breath. I can handle this.

John moans. He’s in there. I just need to activate him. He’s drooling on himself. Ugh. His face is pale, but that could be the moonlight.

“John, look, we’re going to go to bed. I’ve got you. Stand up.”

He’s doing it. We’re walking inside. He’s heavy, leaning on me with all his weight. It’s all I can do to get him to the couch. I’ll just let him rest here. That’s what I’ll do. I make sure he’s settled across the couch and then cover him with the blanket.

He just needs to sleep it off. I wipe drool off his face. Nice, John.

While he’s resting, I clean up the kitchen. I carry a tray out to the deck and clear all the glasses and dishes. I rinse everything in the sink with soap and pop it all in the dishwasher, setting the cycle to pots and pans. I like dishes extra clean, extra sanitized.

I didn’t even know that was a thing until I married John. We never had one of these fancy dishwashers.

With the kitchen all tidy, I look around to see if anything else in the condominium is out of place. John’s phone is on the kitchen counter. I put it on the coffee table in front of the couch where John has passed out. I’d rather have him in the guest bedroom, in case the cleaning crew comes tomorrow. I’ve expressly asked them not to come tomorrow because of our romantic weekend. But you can never be too sure. Sometimes people just don’t do what you want them to do. They lie. They cheat. I shake my head and look over at John.

The thing is, a lot of guys pass out on the couch watching sports or something on TV. I find the remote, and the screen flickers to life. I have no idea what channel has sports, or even what summer sports could be. I find two women playing tennis. Perfect.

John fell asleep while watching a tennis match. Happens every day. No one needs to know that he isn’t a tennis fan.

I kiss him lightly on the forehead. It’s slimy with sweat. I wipe my lips on the sleeve of my shirt. That was gross. This is gross. All of it.