I understood the sentiment all too well. It was as if time stood still on Saturday and Sunday. Before Lauren, like most people, my working life had been dedicated to a countdown to Friday afternoon. Now, however, I couldn’t wait until Monday mornings, when I could see her again.

“This seems like a colossally bad idea.”

“No worse than any of our others recently,” she said.

And so, Stuart, Jacob, and I headed to East Hampton. Stuart was excited about seeing how the one-percenters lived, and Jacob couldn’t stop talking about the fact that our hosts actually had their own swimming pool.

Throughout the drive east, I considered feigning some type of illness as justification to ask Stuart to turn around. But I didn’t say a word.

After more than three hours on the road—the last hour in bumper-to-bumper traffic along a single-lane highway—our beat-up, ten-year-old Hyundai rolled onto Lauren and Richard’s circular white-pebble driveway. Their perfect house, complete with large picture windows, a long sloping roof, and a wraparound porch, stood before us.

“They live here all alone?” Jacob asked as we got out of the car.

“It’s different outside the city,” I said.

“It’s different, all right,” Stuart said.

Lauren greeted us at the door. She was wearing flowing white linen from head to toe and looked positively angelic. I was in jeans, as was Stuart, and Jacob was wearing his Aquaman T-shirt and shorts.

We embraced. She kissed me on the cheek, holding me tighter than an introductory hello of a coworker warranted. When the hug ended, I nervously looked at Stuart, but he was oblivious, staring up at the double-height ceiling and the enormous crystal chandelier that hung from it.

“Quite a place,” he said in a way that sounded more envious than complimentary.

“We like it here. An oasis from the city,” Lauren replied. “Come in. Let me get you situated in your rooms, and then you can change into swimsuits. We can all sit out back. Richard went to the market for provisions for tonight. We thought we’d grill, if that’s okay with you both. And you too, of course, Jacob. Do you like burgers?”

“Mmm hmm,” my son said.

“Excellent,” Lauren said. “Come, follow me. I’ll show you to your rooms.”

She led us straight to the sweeping staircase that dominated the entry. When we began up the stairs, I caught a glimpse of the living room, which looked like it was right out of Architectural Digest—virtually the entire space was white, right down to the rug. I shuddered thinking about Jacob even passing through it.

At the top of the landing was a long hallway. We turned left.