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Val felt Never fizzing inside her arms, bursting like champagne bubbles. "I want to come in," she said.
The man's face went slack and he opened the door wider. Val smiled at him as she walked past and into his apartment.
The walls were painted yellow and hung with gilt-framed finger paintings. A woman was stretched out on the couch, holding a glass of wine. She started as Val came in, splashing her shirt with the red liquid. A little girl sat on a rug by the woman's feet, watching a program on the television that seemed to be about ninjas kicking each other. The little girl turned and smiled.
"This place is so nice," Lolli said from the doorway. "Who lives like this?"
"No one," said Dave. "They hire cleaners—maybe a decorator—to fake their life."
Val walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. There were boxes of take-out, a few withered apples, and a carton of skim milk. She took a bite of the fruit. It was brown and mealy on the inside but still sweet. She couldn't understand why she'd never eaten a brown apple before.
Lolli picked up the bottle of wine from the coffee table and swigged from it, letting red juice run over her chin and cheeks.
Still eating the apple, Val walked to the couch where the woman sat numbly. The lovely apartment, with its stylish furniture and happy family, reminded Val of her dad's house. She didn't fit in here any more than she fit in there. She was too angry, too troubled, too sloppy.
And how was she supposed to tell her dad what had happened with Tom and her mom? It was like confessing to her father that she was bad in bed or something. But not telling him just let his new wife label her as Lifetime movie material, a troubled teen runaway in need of tough love. "See," Linda would say. "She's just like her mother."
"You never liked me," she told the woman on the couch.
"Yes," the woman repeated robotically. "I never liked you."
Dave pushed the man into a chair and turned to Lolli. "We could just make them leave," he said. "It would be so easy. We could live here."
Lolli sat down next to the little girl and plucked a ringlet of her dark hair. "What you watching?"
The girl shrugged.
"Would you like to come and play with us?"
"Sure," the little girl said. "This show is boring."
"Let's start with dress-up," Lolli said, leading the little girl into the back room.
Val turned to the man. He looked docile and happy in his chair, his attention wandering to the television.
"Where's your other daughter?" Val asked.
"I only have one," he said, with mild bafflement.
"You just want to forget about the other one. But she's still here."
"I have another daughter?"
Val sat down on the arm of his chair and leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper. "She's a symbol of the spectacular fuck-up that was your first marriage. Every time you see how she is, you are reminded how old you are. She makes you feel vaguely guilty, like maybe you should know what sport she plays or what her best friend's name is. But you don't want to know those things. If you knew those things, you couldn't forget about her."
"Hey," Dave said, holding up a bottle of cognac that was mostly full. "Luis would like some of this."
Lolli walked back into the room wearing a leather jacket the color of burnt butter and a string of pearls. The little girl had a dozen glittering rhinestone pins in her hair.
"Are you happy at least?" Val asked the woman.
"I don't know," said the woman.
"How can you not know?" Val shouted. She picked up a chair and threw it at the television. The screen cracked and everyone jumped. "Are you happy?"
"I don't know," the woman said.
Val tipped over a bookcase, making the little girl scream. There were shouts outside the door.
