“The only one drooling more than you was Lucy. And the only one drooling more than Lucy was Terrance. And he had an excuse.”

“Which was?”

“He’s a guy. A single guy. And he was being fixed up with her.”

“Well I’m a guy, too!” He shrugged, as if he were blameless, a victim of his own gender. “And, if I may speak frankly for a moment, when you’re a guy, and you’re in the presence of two very attractive women—one of whom is your fiancée and the other of whom used to be your fiancée—well, it can get a little overwhelming.”

“Overwhelming?”

“Confusing.” He was digging his hole now with two shovels.

“Well that’s reassuring. That you’re overwhelmed with confusion.”

“That’s not what I said. That’s not what I meant.”

I stared at him, decided to keep going while I had the chance. “So if Adrienne and Terrance get involved—start dating—when she moves here, will it bother you? Overwhelm you with confusion?”

“Of course not. I mean, that’s why we invited him, isn’t it? So that she could have someone to go out with socially. She doesn’t know a soul here, she said.”

Right. Mary Tyler Moore making her way in the big city.

Adrienne didn’t know a soul, except for Donald, and me, and now Gayle and Fran and Terrance.

“So you won’t get jealous.”

“Jealous? Absolutely not.”

“Really.” I rolled my eyes. “I find that very hard to believe.”

“Look.” Donald slammed one hand down on the counter, then ran the other hand through his hair. It seemed he’d finally had enough of this line of questioning from which no good would ever come: there was only so long you could get sucked into a discussion about your ex without inadvertently stepping on a mine field. He knew it was only a matter of time (minutes; seconds) before the whole thing really blew up in his face; he had to shut me down now. “Our relationship, hers and mine, was a long time ago. A very long time ago. I only wish the best for her. I only want her to be happy.”

I looked at him, suspicious of his magnanimity. “Why?”

“Because. The happier she is, the happier we are.”

I said nothing.

“Am I right?”

I shrugged.

He looked at me, took my hand, held it. “I’m marrying you. Not her. Right?”

I didn’t answer.

“You’re the one I love. Not her. Okay?”

Still nothing.

“So can we just go to bed now and forget all about this? I’m exhausted. And I think I ate too much.” He ran his hands over his torso one last time; put his arm around me; looked worried. “Do you think my weight will go up?”