She shook her head. “I’m going to take a shower,” she said. “I didn’t trust the Holiday Inn last night.”

Ezra started to ask her what on earth could be wrong with the water at the Holiday Inn, but he supposed they had grown used to finer things, even though he’d never meant to. He didn’t mind a roadside motel, like the kind he’d stayed at growing up, or a greasy diner with plastic menus, not the farm-to-table brunches they lingered over every Sunday now. He couldn’t fault Mimi for growing used to such things either; what was his was hers, and the world they ran in now, even if she was still paid in those elusive stock options, didn’t much resemble the worlds of their youth. Besides, it was easier for him to just acquiesce in the moment and play along and say: “Ok, great. Yeah, we have to walk out of here in an hour anyway.” He checked the clock on the nightstand. It was almost four now, and the wedding started at five. Mimi, and this was not a criticism, took forever to get ready.

The bathroom door closed behind her, then he heard the lock spin. He stilled for a moment, waiting to hear the rush of the shower. When he did, he was on his feet, reaching for his laptop, enduring the interminable wait for the hotel internet, and then logging on to the American Airlines site once again. Maybe he’d misunderstood. Maybe he’d been so wonky from the pepper spray and waking up with Frankie and the blackout-drunk situation that he had misread American’s page, and in fact, her flight had been canceled, and then he could put this all behind him. The site took a good minute to load, then another minute once Ezra had typed in the flight details. He kept turning to check the bathroom, but the water was still running, the door still locked. And he hated—hated—that he was doubting Mimi. He hated that he knew he was going to catch her in a lie. He hated even more that this meant that he was going to have to make a fundamental decision: confront her about it or simply live with the knowledge that the untruth existed between them. He did not stop to remind himself that he had plenty of untruths to share with her.

And there it was. Again. Mimi’s flight last night had taken off and landed on time. Ezra considered calling the reservations line just to confirm, but then he further considered how pathetic that was: phoning a call center to ask a stranger if his girlfriend was lying to him.

Ezra shuttered the laptop and ran a hand over his face, which had now settled down and mostly looked normal. Mimi hadn’t even noticed that his eyelids were still a little puffy, the whites of his eyes still a little pink. Maybe if he just told her what he knew, and not just about the flight, but about his own pile of shit—the gambling, waking up in Homer, the kiss—they could mutually agree that they’d each screwed the pooch and live happily ever after (literally).