“Uh yeah, you could say that.” I reach over the bar and snag a bowl of pretzels before he can offer them to me. “You owe me a drink. Your best margarita.”

Mika pulls out a tumbler and starts pouring liquid in it as he asks, “What happened?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You just set me up with someone who didn’t read the instructions.”

Mika winces. “Did he go off script?”

“That’s one way to put it.” I pop a pretzel in my mouth and lay it out for him. “It was simple. Pretend to be my husband, fight with me, show that we’re not compatible, leave. But noooooo, that was too easy. Wilder needed to complicate things. He went in there, speaking praises of me, which of course had me needing to do the same so I didn’t come off as the ornery wench.”

“Did you?”

“Who knows.” I toss my hands in the air. “He played the ‘she doesn’t want kids’ card, which is a dirty hand to play. Oh, and speaking of hands, he held mine during the session and then after when we walked away.” I connect both of my hands in front of my face and shake them. “Held it.”

Mika starts shaking the tumbler on his right side. “So he made it seem like you two were happy and in love?”

“At first, but then we started fighting, and for a moment there, I thought, this is what I’m talking about. The insults, the blaming. I never felt more alive in my life than during that thirty-second spat, but then it was all squashed when Sanders, the therapist, said that we would be perfect for the marriage summer camp he’s putting on up in the Catskills.”

Mika is midpour of my drink when he pauses and looks up at me. “No, tell me you’re not going.”

I pop another pretzel in my mouth and say, “Oh, we’re going.”

“Fuck, seriously?”

“Uh-huh, paid for and everything. Which, by the way”—I sit taller—“not that it matters to me, but does he have money or something? Because he paid for that camp outright, called it a treat.”

A smirk crosses his lips, a very familiar one that I experienced today. “Scottie, he sold an app for a significant amount of money. He’s rich, hence the whole retirement, has-a-lot-of-time-on-his-hands kind of thing.”

“What?” I ask, shocked. “I thought he was an out-of-work actor.”

Laughing, Mika slides my drink onto the bar counter and then wipes his hand on a towel before flipping it over his shoulder. “Yeah, I don’t talk much about him or my family for that matter, other than some of the things you know. Should have informed you, especially about his current thirst for experiencing life. He heard the word ‘camp’ and you were instantly fucked.”