“How do you like the roast, shugga pie?” I asked, stabbing a slice of beef with my fork and rolling it in thick gravy. I grinned, knowing how Owen hated the countrified way I said sugar as my Southern drawl slipped out here and there. I’d spent a lifetime burying it, but apparently not deep enough. One’s roots had a way of worming to the surface.

Ironically, he loved Southern cooking, just not Southern talking. He couldn’t get enough of my fried chicken, but God forbid I slip up when warshing the clothes or fixin’ to make supper. According to him and his stringent Western Pennsylvanian upbringing, Southerners sounded stupid and illiterate . . . not that a dialect had anything to do with one’s ability to read or write. But I never dared challenge him on this, because a good wife never should. Especially one who was about to lie to his face and leave his life a crumbled heap of rubble.

“It’s delicious, Mac.” Owen was a meat and potatoes kind of guy, and I hoped dinner would be the perfect bribe. “Tender and juicy, just how I like it.”

Owen winked at me from across the handcrafted oak table that we paid too much for but was worth every penny, and I chuckled while Aria groaned next to me. “Ew, Dad. Seriously, extra cringey.”

Ah, the teen angst. Everything parents did was either mortifying or smothering or neglectful. We could never win. But I suppose it was the plight of every parent with a fifteen-year-old daughter.

Owen glared at Aria. “You should appreciate that your parents are still together and in love. Most marriages don’t last as long as ours has.”

When he turned his attention back to me, he flashed that same charming grin that had won me over more than twenty years ago, brimming with boyish mischief mixed with desire. Blondes have more fun, he had told me, which is what first drew me to you. Despite his many faults, he knew how to win me over again and again. With Owen, all it took was a smile. With me, all it took was a lie Owen wanted to believe.

“It’s true, Aria,” I said. “I’m so lucky to have a man like your dad to keep the marriage thriving.” The words tasted bitter, but I pasted on the same adoration I did every night over dinner.

“It’s just that I’m trying to eat and imagining you guys . . . ugh, never mind. I’m happy if you guys are happy.”

“Oh, Aria, one day I hope you experience what love like this feels like. One day far in the future, though. Not anytime soon, ya hear?”