white button-down with the sleeves rolled up. They’re laughing, holding hands, their hair whipping in the wind. In this photo, Marin is younger than Kenzie, and breathtakingly beautiful.
She walks through the second level slowly, passing a bedroom that she can only assume must be Sebastian’s. The door has a little sticker on it, and when she peers closer she sees that it’s another Paw Patrol character. Every other door upstairs is open except this one.
She will not open it.
The master bedroom is the only thing Kenzie really wants to see, anyway, and it’s at the end of the hallway, with double doors. When she enters, the hardwood changes to carpet, but it’s not the cheap kind like in her apartment. It’s the thick, knotted kind that never shows vacuum lines or footprints. The square footage of their bedroom alone is probably the size of her and Tyler’s entire apartment. A king-size bed sits grandly against the far wall, with matching mirror-paneled nightstands flanking each side. One nightstand is piled with books—a few self-help, the rest fiction. The other is bare save for a phone charger hanging limply off the edge. Kenzie can guess which side Derek sleeps on. He’s not a reader.
She enters the ensuite, which smells like lavender and looks like something out of a magazine. Tile laid painstakingly in a herringbone pattern. Glass-enclosed shower, big enough for two. The vanity is the widest she’s ever seen, and there’s a claw-footed tub by the window, so deep that there’s a little footstool beside it to help you step in. The toilet sits in its own room with a door just next to the shower, and Kenzie makes a beeline for it to relieve herself.
She can’t even begin to process the walk-in closet. Derek’s side is full of suits, no surprise there. But Marin’s side … The woman has so much stuff. Dresses. Coats. Suits. Pants. Blouses. All sorted by style and color. There’s a center island—an island!—with drawers for socks and underwear and workout clothes and jeans, and the entire back wall is just for bags and shoes. And to think Kenzie fretted when Derek bought her a Dolce & Gabbana bag in New York, the only designer bag she owns, and so nice she’s only allowed herself to use it when she’s with Derek. In contrast, his wife only owns designer bags. Gucci. Ferragamo. Chanel. Vuitton. And one budget-friendly Tory Burch, well worn and clearly well loved.
Kenzie pulls out her phone, unable to resist taking a picture of herself in the most spectacular closet she’s ever been in. She takes several angles, wondering what would happen if she posted the pics on Instagram. Would either of them even know? This closet is exactly the kind of thing she’d see on Million Dollar Listing, that Bravo reality TV show she and Tyler were addicted to last summer.
“Why the hell do we watch this?” she’d asked her roommate, stuffing her face with microwave popcorn as a rich couple no older than thirty declared on camera that their 2,200-square-foot Manhattan apartment was a bit too tight for themselves and their bichon frise. “This just makes me feel shitty about my life.”
“Because it’s aspirational,” Ty answered, and he was right. “We watch because these are the people we wish we were.”
A pair of red-soled high heels catches Kenzie’s eye. Christian Louboutins. They’re works of art, black satin with a crystal bow at the toe, four-inch heels. Size 8. Kenzie is an eight and a half. Close enough. Peeling off her socks, she slips the shoes on. They’re a little tight, but she snaps a picture of her feet in them anyway. She puts them back on the shelf, then decides they look even more glamorous in front of the purse collection. She arranges the pair artfully and snaps several more photos. Why? Because it’s aspirational.
She walks back into the main area of the bedroom, her feet making no noise on the well-padded carpet. She pictures Marin reading in bed and Derek sliding in beside her, back in happier times, when their child was asleep down the hall and they finally had some time to themselves. Marin’s wearing pajamas, or maybe a college T-shirt of Derek’s. He’s wearing old basketball shorts, shirtless, maybe fresh from a shower after a long day. Maybe they make love. Maybe they just spoon. Maybe they talk about their day, quietly and lightheartedly, until one of them falls asleep. Derek would be the one to close his eyes