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“I’m very proud of her,” I said.

“We’revery proud of her,” Raj corrected me. I found it irksome when he did that. And he had a habit of doing it. Obviously, he hadn’t raised Kelly with me. He was only a few years older than she was. So he really shouldn’t be taking credit for her.

This fact seemed to cause an uncomfortable lull in the conversation. I must not have been the only one to notice Raj’s ridiculous credit-grab. But then, as though to make matters worse, Miles came out of the house with a sour look on his face.

Actually, I’d seen the sour look on his face so much recently I was beginning to think itwashis face. And the look only deepened when he saw Raj standing next to me. I walked over to my ex, hoping to deflect some of his anger before he reached the group.

“Hello, Miles.”

9

Miles Kettering-Lane

How dare he?How dare he simply walk over and say hello while his boyfriend slouched on the other side of the room? Had he no decency? No milk of human kindness? Nowhatever?

I was doing my best not to even look at Raj, while at the same time completely checking him out—a skill I, like most gay men, had honed cruising dark bars in my youth. Raj was young, obviously. Thin and somewhat elastic, he had that youthful appearance of not having completely formed. He wore oversized, round glasses and had painted his nails canary yellow—which did not go with his skin tone.

To my husband, I said, “I see you’ve brought your boy toy. I hope you let him drive. They need as much practice as they can get while they’re still on a learner’s permit.”

“I’m guessing you don’t want me to do the polite thing and introduce the two of you?”

“Sometimes the rudest thing you can be is polite.”

“I’ll take that as a no. I didn’t see your car outside. How did you get here? Broomstick?”

“I came with Kelly and Avery. They’re staying in her old room. Remember?”

“Are you going to behave?” he asked me under his breath. The implication being that I might not. I wanted to reach out and slap him. But that would make him right.

“Of course, I’m going to behave. Why would you think I wouldn’t behave?”

But before he finished rolling his eyes, Lissa was there handing us glasses of champagne. I had a drink in my hand already though, so I declined. Andy took both glasses, even though I could see he wanted something stronger. My fault, perhaps?

If so, good.

“It’s so nice to see the two of you speaking,” Lissa said. “Kelly told us you don’t do it very often.” She frowned at us dramatically. Now I wanted to slap her. So did Andy. I could see it in the way his face was twitching.

“In this house,” she went on, “we believe in amicable divorces. Life is just too short to hate the people you love.”

“Why hate your ex when you can move in next door to them?”

Oblivious to my snarkiness, Lissa said, “Exactly. I have to tell you, the four of us have been going to un-couples therapy. For years and years. It has done wonders. The three of you should try it.”

I couldn’t imagine anything more horrific. How could I sit in a room with Andy and Raj and, what, share my feelings? Actually, I think I was doing a pretty good job of sharing my feelings as it was. Everyone in a three-block radius knew I was angry. Why pay a therapist to help me do what I was already doing so effectively?

Andy said, “I think we’re actually better at not talking…”

“Well, if you need Dr. Fefferman’s card you just let me know.”

“We’ll do that.”

“So, I have to ask…” she said to me, almost blushing beneath her makeup. “Do you know Martha?”

“Martha?” It took me a moment but then I realized. “Um, no. There’s no union we all belong to.”

Lissa looked extremely disappointed. “Normally, I’m against unions, but I think one would have been helpful in this—”

And then I wondered, “Where did Kelly go?”