He found her in the kitchen, her stomach bigger than it had been the previous month, an excrescence on her frail frame. The remodeling had been done last year, with louvered cabinets, the island corbeled, the fridge upgraded to the latest Subzero model. The stove was always having issues. It had been a stupid, superfluous expense; they hardly used the kitchen unless they had a private chef cooking there. But there she was, whipping something in a bowl, the wire whisk’s thrust so aggressive it looked like she would pull a muscle.

“Penelope is asleep. You should go say hi to her. She should be reminded what her father looks like.” She didn’t look up from the bowl. He approached her, was suddenly assaulted by the odor of onions. She didn’t look up, even as he came nearer, tried to draw her into him. She was whipping so hard she was creating peaks in the egg whites, tiny castles for the fluffiest frittata in the world.

He took her chin, tilted her head up and planted a soft kiss on her lips. She didn’t reciprocate, keeping her mouth firmly shut. “Get the fuck away from me,” she growled, shoving him with the rim of the bowl. And he did. He walked backward toward the edge of the kitchen as she stared at him from the island, her arm almost mechanical with its whirring movements, still beating away at the eggs.

“I’ve been seeing someone,” he said softly, the weight of the words dripping out of him without warning. He said it louder, more lasciviously. “I’ve been seeing someone.”

She finally stopped whisking, the bowl still clutched to her chest. “Of course you have been.” She rolled her eyes. “I heard you the first time, by the way.” She put the bowl down, turned on the stove, the blue flame dancing as she heated the nonstick pan, adding oil to it, anyway.

He clenched his fist. “Don’t you want to know who it is?”

She tossed in the onions. “Not particularly. You’re so boring, Tom. God, it’s probably your personal trainer or something. Some cliché. Sorry to say, but you’re just not interesting enough to be having an affair with someone outside the immediate realm of possibility.” The onions sizzled.

He clenched his other fist. “You don’t know me at all.” And she rolled her eyes again.

“I know how weak you are. You let Peri bring your weakest impulses to light. You’re a petulant, powerless, selfish little man, Tom. And I feel bad for whoever you’ve charmed this time. And I’m grateful it’s not me. I’m grateful that I finally have the balls to say that, too.” She took out a large knife, a pepper. De-seeded it, began chopping. “Anyway, aren’t you going to ask me about my trip?”