“Well, I’ll take you over her any day of the week and on Sunday too,” Gregory said, which Frankie thought was a compliment but honestly wasn’t sure. Then he lowered his voice, as if Mimi or Ezra could hear them all the way on the third floor.

“Two summers ago, I was back from Portland for a week, and Ezra invited me to his summer share.” He gave her a look like Frankie should know what and where this was. When she didn’t, he said, “South Hampton. He does it every summer.”

“Oh, ok,” Frankie said, trying to envision Ezra in board shorts and Ray-Bans and eating corn on the cob while drinking a long-necked beer. The Ezra she knew had never been relaxed enough, casual enough to figuratively sink his feet into the sand. She found that she didn’t consider the image unappealing; she found, in fact, that she’d like to know that man.

“Anyway, they were pretty new, I think.” Gregory scrunched his face up like the math of it mattered. “Maybe a few months in, I don’t know. Ezra had sold the company by then—” He stopped. “You know about that, yes? The gajillion-dollar sale?”

Frankie nodded, though the gajillion-dollar sale really meant nothing one way or the other to her.

“Right, well, this wasn’t too long after his mom died, and Ezra was putting on a pretty good face, but I wasn’t convinced. But here was this girl who he was super in love with, so I wanted to be super in love with her too.” Gregory sighed. “Look, the long and the short of it is—and I say this with no judgment, ok? We all have our shit.” He reached up and touched his wonky, still-swollen nose. “I have my shit; you definitely have your shit.”

“Yes,” Frankie said. “Got it.”

“So I’m at the Kmart—Kmart! Because of course, I’d forgotten half my toiletries, and your boy always needs to moisturize. And I see her—Mimi—in the makeup aisle. And I stop because, look, I’m nosy, ok? I’m not going to apologize for getting up in people’s business.”

“As expected,” Frankie said. Then to be clear that she wasn’t being snippy, she offered, “I mean, that’s great.” Which, of course, made no sense, but she was really hoping Gregory would get to the point.

“And I see this girl, the love of Ezra’s life, start to pocket things from the shelf! Like, goddamned Maybelline mascara! Revlon nail polish! God knows how many lipsticks she shoved in her bag.” Gregory was animated now. “And look, I’m not, like, the world’s Kmart police or whatever, but I do know that retail is a bitch. So I must gasp aloud or maybe she catches me staring . . . I can’t remember exactly now. But she sees me, and her eyes flick around like she could, maybe, I don’t know, not see me? But then she shuffles toward me and says, like, in a low, pathetic voice, ‘Please don’t tell Ezra. He wouldn’t understand.’ And I’m thinking, Lady, you’re a thief, and not even a very good one! What is there to understand?” Gregory sighed.