“Tristan wants shrimp quesadillas for lunch,” she announced.

“I’ll have beef.

No onions on mine.” I kept packing.

She nudged the side of my suitcase with the toe of her shoe.

“Still playing the tragic little actress?” I said nothing.

She leaned in the doorway and smiled, and then she said the thing she had clearly been saving.

“Do you know the real difference between you and me?

I’ve been divorced from Zachary six years, and I’m still an essential part of his family.