That being a beautiful, expensive, comfortable fawn suede sectional that ate up nearly every inch of space and surrounded a fabulous, large, heavy, carved, square coffee table and faced a massive media center including a big flat screen TV that took up all the wall space with none to spare.

The attractive rush-seated hardwood stools at my bar didn’t belong to the place either. Nor did the countertop appliances and kitchen paraphernalia that were all expensive because they were top of the line. All this was given to us during our engagement party, my shower, and our wedding, and those gifts were mostly from Aaron’s parents’ friends.

And last, there were the accoutrements, heavy silver frames (that now did not hold pictures of me and Aaron over the too many years we were together but instead held pictures of Travis, Travis and me, Travis and my dad, or my dad, my mom, and Althea), expensive decorative knickknacks, and a Bose dock that I didn’t get in the divorce decree. I filched it. But luckily, Aaron either didn’t notice or was so busy having sex with a barely legal model and making my life a misery he didn’t have the energy to fight to get it back.

Joker couldn’t see my bedroom suite, which also took up the entirety of space in my tiny bedroom, especially with Travis’s crib and changing table shoved against a wall.

I’d even gotten the comforter and sheets. All that was magnificent, elegant, even regal.

As it would be.

I’d picked the comfy sectional.

But Aaron’s mother had chosen our bedroom furniture.

Plus I had the storage unit my father paid for (saying he needed it for his stuff but I’d been there, he had two boxes stored there, the rest of the space was taken with the leftovers of my marriage). It held my dining room table and the guest bedroom furniture from one of our four guest bedrooms.

Something I intended to sell should I have needed to.

Now I didn’t and would be able to use it (or most of it) when I moved into Tyra’s house.

More lucky.

“See the asshole left you with somethin’,” Joker muttered.

“Nickel,” I snapped.

He looked at me, ignored my snap, and stated, “Thinkin’ we need more than a coupla trucks.”

“That would be useful,” I confirmed. “I also have a dining room set that it would be great if you retrieved from my dad’s storage unit.”

“We’ll take care a’ that,” he stated, and instead of nodding, shaking my hand, wishing me a good night, handing me my son, and walking out the door, he walked toward my kitchen, around the bar, and to the fridge. He then asked, “Thoughts on dinner?”

I stood where I was and stared at him. Then I stared at the fridge door when he mostly disappeared behind it.