And he wondered why I was sometimes jealous of his dog? Why, at the beginning of our courtship, when he’d yell something out from the kitchen— “Want a cookie?”; “Come in here!”; “Sit!”; “Out!”—I would answer; obey? He could never understand why I thought he was talking to me and not the dog, but I thought it was obvious: Lucy was someone Donald trusted, felt very close to, connected with.

Once again, finally, we came back to the present.

There was more smiling.

More wincing.

I kicked Donald again.

The dog?

“Oh sorry. I put her outside when I started cooking, which was”—he checked his watch—“at one? Or two, maybe? And now it’s eight?”

Adrienne expressed concern. “She’s probably starving.”

“And lonely,” he added.

And half-frozen. The Evil Twins were out of control; wreaking havoc; filled with glee at the idea of the dog’s discomfort.

Donald led the way through the foyer into the kitchen as if he were leading an emergency life-or-death dog-saving expedition across the tundra. We both followed. He took the key to the back door from the top of the refrigerator, grabbed the platter of swordfish steaks and vegetables to be grilled, then raced across the kitchen and unlocked the door. They both ran out into the yard. Barking and laughing ensued.

I was in desperate need of a drink. I took a giant swig of white wine from an open bottle in the refrigerator, wiped my mouth with the back of my arm, took another swig, and finished the bottle. I exhaled loudly, belched daintily, then heard the doorbell and went to the door: Gayle.

“Oh. It’s you,” I said.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Drink?” I looked at the empty bottle still in my hand. “I was just going to open more.”

“Yes, please.” Her tone was that of someone who hadn’t been fed in days. She followed me into the kitchen and looked around longingly at the dinner in progress. Momentarily distracted by all that food and the prospect of a fantastic meal, she soon caught herself and dug her fingers into my arm.

“So. Is she here yet?”

I slammed the bottle of wine I was trying to open down onto the counter. “Look, do not start with me again. I’m not in the mood.”

She blinked madly. “Start what?”

“You know what. That Adrienne bullshit. ‘Oh, is she here? Where is she? I’m dying to see my new best friend Adrienne!’ ” I mimicked. “Of course she’s here. She’s outside with Donald, playing with the dog.” I finally pulled the cork out of the bottle, wiped the inside of the bottle neck with my finger, then poured a glass for Gayle. I handed it to her, turned back to the counter, and drank another long swig from the bottle.

“What are you doing?” Gayle asked.

“I’m drinking.”

“From the bottle, yes I see. How lovely.” She took a sip from her glass, put it down, assessed the scene before her. “Look. You’d better pull yourself together, here.”