I nodded. I had a hard time looking at her. It was hard to look at anything. I tried taking all my frustrations and anger from the past half hour and pushing them into the pit of my stomach. To hell with my emotions, my ego and pride. Ego. Nothing more than a fickle friend who’s in the bathroom whistling loudly with his dick hanging out when you’re slugged in the face and need him most.

“Hey,” she said and nudged me. “What’s the matter?”

I wanted to be quiet, to let it go and kiss Carolyn and hug her and get her laughing and just live in the here and now and not worry about what may or may not reside in each of our respective pasts. But I couldn’t. I looked her in the eye, tried to bring lightness to my voice, and asked: “Jimmy called your phone when I came down here. I didn’t answer it, but I got pissed off and called him right back.”

“Okay,” she said.

“He said you guys were still sleeping together.”

She guffawed. “Give me a break. I haven’t seen him since we got my things.”

“Really?”

“Yes, of course. He’s called me a bunch of times. I called him back once because he left a message asking what to do with some of the things we left behind.”

“What did you leave?”

“Some clothes, dishes, a necklace, a pair of earrings, my bed.”

“Did you get them from him?”

“Stratton, I would have told you if I’d seen him. I haven’t.”

We were both silent as a train rolled by.

“I’m sorry. I had no right to ask, or to check your phone. I’m never really myself on holidays. Kind of missing my mom today,” I said.

She kissed me on the forehead. “Of course. You never talk about her. If you want to talk about it, then you know I’m here for you.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now let’s go enjoy dinner.”

3

Carolyn set the table while Gene and I carried everything in. When we were ready Gene rushed out of the apartment, down the stairs, and came back a minute later carrying a dusty bottle of wine.

“Stratton, my boy, you’re going to love this.”

“What is it?”

“A 1994 Domaine J. L. Chave Hermitage. Been waiting to open this for a long time.”

“You’re kidding me? That’s like a hundred-fifty-dollar bottle, right?”

“Almost double that, actually, but who’s keeping track?”

He peeled away the foil, worked the cork out of the bottle, poured three glasses.

“You guys and your wine,” Carolyn said, rolling her eyes. “It’s crazy how much you spend on it.”

“You’re in for a treat, darling,” I said.