I showered and left again. I didn’t want to screw up with the clients I still had. I weeded and watered and planted. It wasn’t like I hated what I did. A landscape you’ve shaped and tended is a gratifying thing. Plants and flowers have such infinite variety, so many ways of growing or failing, combining or striving against each other, coming into season then falling away. I guess they had everything going for them except words.

I didn’t have that many clients, but I put off going home as long as I could so that Aaron would be there first. I didn’t want to be the one sitting there waiting for the stroke of doom to fall. So I went for a swim at the Indian Valley pool, bought a six-pack of some IPA as a peace offering, and pulled into my usual parking space next to Aaron’s car.

“We have to talk,” he said, as soon as I opened the door. He was on the couch, watching the television news.

“Okay,” I said. I sat on the couch, too, but not right next to him. I put the beer in between us. We didn’t talk right away. We watched the television, where the president was giving a speech in front of a crowd. He was moving his mouth in an ugly way, pulling his upper lip back to show his teeth. He was saying that somebody or something was no good, worse than no good, the worst, the absolute, lying, disgusting, putrid worst. I couldn’t tell what he was talking about since the news anchor was cutting in. The crowd fell all over themselves, cheering and stomping.

“Who are all these people?” I asked. “Why is it so thrilling for them to hate everybody?”

Aaron lifted the remote and clicked the television off. “That was some stunt you pulled yesterday.”

I didn’t say anything. I stared at the blank television screen, like some invisible broadcast was playing.

“It was childish. Among other things. It wasn’t your house and it wasn’t your party and it wasn’t your responsibility to watch the grill. You want to know what people were talking about? How you jumped right in to fight the fire. You’re their little hero.”

“You were there ahead of me,” I said.

“Yeah, I’m wonderful, too. I’m trying to tell you, nobody thought you did anything wrong. They’re big fans. You can stop acting like you killed somebody’s puppy.”

I kept quiet, trying to sort it all out. I had been acting like I was in charge, or that the party had something to do with me, when it didn’t. I’d only wanted it to. It was part of my stupid yearning, like a little kid desperate to tag along.