Crap. The broccoli was on the stove. He turned to check it, finding it way overcooked, a dull, ugly green. He tested it with a fork; it disintegrated into mush.

Then came a clatter and the crash of something breaking.

“Pebbles!” Jen said, and yep, the dog was eating the dakgangjeong off the floor. Wolfing it down without pausing to chew.

“Pebbles! No!” Josh said, but she just wagged her tail and kept going for it.

“Bad dog,” said Darius, his deep voice scaring her. She glanced at him, took a final bite, then ran down the hall, clots of rice and sauce in her wake, her muzzle and paws coated in dark red sauce, as if she’d just eaten a baby antelope.

That shit was sticky. Was their bedroom door open? Yes, it was. Goddamn it. The dog would mess up Lauren’s room, and it was his own fault. He ran down the hall. The spice had caught up with Pebbles, and she was rubbing her muzzle on the fluffy white rug Lauren had loved. Reddish-black paw prints already marred the pure white comforter. The room looked like a crime scene. “Pebbles!” he shouted, his voice way too loud. “You’re very bad!”

She bowed her head, and it hit him in the heart. This was Lauren’s dog. Lauren’s friend.

“I’m sorry,” he said, closing the door so she couldn’t trash the rest of the house. “You’re very beautiful. You’re a good girl.” She wagged her tail, then threw up. “Oh, honey. I’m sorry.”

She came to his knee, and he patted her sticky head. Went into the master bathroom, grabbed some towels, cleaned her up as best he could and closed her in the guest room. He’d deal with the mess when everyone left.

With a sigh, he went back to the kitchen. Sarah was wiping up the stream of burnt sauce that had sloshed on the side of the island. “Ken, grab me the Windex from under the sink,” she said. Darius was on his phone, and Jen was leaning on the counter, watching.

The platter that broke had been a wedding gift from Lauren’s boss. It was from Italy, Josh thought.

“We can probably still eat this food,” Ken said, looking at the mess, the broken platter. “There’s a lot left.”

“No, we can’t,” Jen said, her wineglass in her hand. “The dog just ate it, there are shards of broken porcelain in there, and it’s on the floor, where all our shoes have been. So . . . we’re not eating it, Ken.”

“Yeah, no,” Ken said. “I just . . . it’s a shame, that’s all. Josh. Nice try, man.”

“Maybe we should go,” Jen said.

Yes, go, he thought. But then he’d have to do this again some other night, if he wanted to follow Lauren’s instructions. She thought he should do this; do this, he would.