He grabs my hand. “Oh, you’re done.”

Nicholas all but throws me over his shoulder to get me out of that house. I can feel that my face is flushed with triumph and I know my eyes are bright and shining. A complete basket case. This is how I want to look in the picture we use for invitations. I wish I could fall down and laugh until my ribs crack, but he drags me out the door. Every muscle in his body is tense.

“Thanks for dinner!” I crow behind me. “Your adult son and I are so grateful!”

“Stop saying that,” he snaps, tugging my arm when I try to dig my heel into one of the flowers in the yard.

“Stop thanking them for dinner? That’s not very nice manners, Nicky.”

He and I suffer each other in silence on the car ride home, preparing our arguments in our heads. As soon as we pull up under the halo of our streetlight we get out and round the car, doors slamming with hurricane force.

“Don’t slam my car door.” As if he didn’t do the same.

He’s in love with his status symbol of a car and would probably marry it if it were socially acceptable. “Your car isn’t that good-looking and didn’t even win the J.D. Power award. I hope a bird craps on it every single day for all eternity.” Right on the windshield in front of his face, a big white splat.

“You’re just mad because you drive a woolly mammoth.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my car.”

“I’m sure it was in top form once. In 1999.”

Listen to this man’s privilege. He’s probably never driven a car that was more than two years old. “I buy what I can afford. Not all of us have rich parents who paid our tuition at swanky New England schools.”

“You want to go to college? Then go to college! Don’t punish me for being successful enough to buy a nice vehicle.”

And we’ve come to the crux of it. Naomi doesn’t have a college degree. Naomi doesn’t have a fancy car. How do we measure her value without these must-haves? I think about my parents saying I should have worked harder and applied for scholarships. I think about Nicholas’s remark at game night that I don’t need a job, and how no one believes in me. I wish I could go back in time and slam his car door twice.

I let his stride overtake mine so that I enter the house second; this way, I get to shut the door as hard as I want. The walls vibrate, floorboards shifting like tectonic plates. The ceiling fractures apart into a road map of jagged black lines. He and I square off, battle-ready, the room hazing crimson and pulsating with animosity.

“There’s nothing wrong with your gas gauge,” I tell him. It’s one of the meanest things I could ever say. “You can’t admit you didn’t notice your fuel was low.”

His eyes are crazed. At game night, I realized they change colors, and right now his eyes are the color of four horsemen heralding Armageddon, riding forth on beasts whipped from storm clouds. I can practically see the lightning flash, illuminating a rain of locusts. He drags a hand through his hair and messes it all up. A colorful wheel of insults cranks through his head and notches on one I didn’t expect.

“I don’t like your spaghetti. It tastes like nothing.”

Whatever. He’s just giving me an excuse not to cook. “I don’t like your dumb How to Train Your Dragon tie.”

He’s so proud of that tie, because it features Toothless the dragon. A clever pun when you’re in the teeth profession.

Rage burns a red rash across his cheekbones. “You take that back.”

I shrug, smiling inwardly. It’s a malicious smile all for myself, but I think he sees it because of the look he gives me.

“Sometimes I don’t know why I try with you.”

I agree. “Yeah, why do you?”

He combusts. “Giving me shit about my mother constantly, like I don’t already know how difficult she makes our lives. You harping on me, and throwing me to the wolves all the time, doesn’t make it any better! You’re not such a peach yourself, Naomi. You think there aren’t things about you that drive me insane? You think I don’t feel held back from realizing my true potential?”

His chest is heaving and he looks like he might run out the door and never come back. To make him even angrier, I let out a pop of laughter. “Please enlighten me, Nicholas, as to how I am holding you back.”

Oh, he’s riled. He’s hands on hips, tie yanked loose, so upset I can see his skin retracting as a shadow of stubble breaks through. His mouth is a slash of contempt. His eyes dip to the Steelers logo on my hoodie and he clenches his jaw so tight I know there’s a hairline fracture there with my name on it. An X-ray technician will be astounded to see the word Naomi etched into his bones one day.

“For one, I hate this house.”

My eyebrows arch so high, they nearly touch my bangs. “You picked it.”

After eleven months of dating, we packed up our solo lives and came here to be one unit. It was the first rental house we looked at. We were dripping with vitality and butterflies, making grand plans. We’ll build shelves. Maybe the landlord will let us retile the bathroom. Doing projects together will be so fun! Recalling happier times is like trying to remember a dream I had a hundred years ago—it’s all a warped blur that no longer makes sense.

When we toured the house, we were so dreamy over our love nest that we didn’t take into consideration that the limited street parking would make it a pain to accommodate two cars. We didn’t notice the floors weren’t level, which means every time I drop my ChapStick I have to chase it before it rolls under the furniture. We didn’t think about the fact that there was only one spare room that could be turned into an office.

Which went to him, naturally.

“Sometimes my judgment’s hasty,” he shoots back, making it clear he’s talking about proposing to me. “I don’t like the street we’re on, or this neighborhood. Morris is actually a scenic town if you’re in the right spot, and we moved smack-dab where it’s ugliest. There’s nothing here.”

He can see the question mark on my face. “I’d rather be closer to nature!” he blurts. “All these woods, all this countryside around us, and here we sit with a backyard so small you could spit across it.”

“So, what?” I prompt. “You want to be one of those guys in a Nature Valley ad? Sitting on a mountain with your Labrador retriever, getting a hard-on over the smell of trees?”