“No, because it was stupid. Here, let’s try it: You tell me a story about yourself, Alex, and none of it can be about anything that’s happened to you. Go.” Her right knee is jiggling. As usual, she’s the one who’s angry when I’m the one who’s been wronged.

“I’m really tired, Ruth.”

“Do you believe me?”

“No, I don’t.” I walk to the fridge and open it, my back to her at the counter. “I think you love that Chase found out and is mad at me. You had something over me. I think you saw that as an opportunity to hurt me, and you took it.”

When I glance back, she has her palm flat against her chest, her mouth outraged at the slander.

“It doesn’t work on me, Ruth.” I pull a container of some kind of pasta from the fridge and open it, put it back again. “This whole poor me act you have going. You know what you’ve done in your life, all the things you chose. And you chose them for everyone. No one else ever had a say.”

“What are you talking about?”

I slam the fridge closed. “If anyone has a right to be mad, it’s me. But look at you! You’re trying to steal that from me, too.”

She sits up so straight it’s like the chair has turned electric. “I’ve done a lot of work on myself, Alex, and I’ve come to terms with a shit ton of things. I think it’s time you did the same.”

“Oh, spare me.” My voice is rising now, but then to my left I’m aware that Chase has come out of the shower. He’s standing in his shorts, his hair tousled.

“Hello,” he says. He looks scared more than anything, as if the floor is full of land mines.

“Chase.” I walk toward him. “I’m sorry I took off. I needed to clear my head. Today has been awful, start to finish. I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” he says. “It’s okay. But can we talk?” He looks around as if only just noticing there’s nowhere private in this condo. “Can we go somewhere on our own right now?”

“I’d like that,” I say.

“Are you hungry? You must be. Come on, I know a place.” He throws on a T-shirt he’s left on the couch, grabs his keys from a hook by the door. “Will you be all right, Ruth?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” she says, standing.

“She’ll be fine,” I say. And then to her: “Don’t wander off.”

The last thing I see before the front door closes is Ruth helping herself to the pasta from the fridge.