I regret the joke the second it’s out, because hearing those words aloud reminds me of our last night together and that we haven’t talked about that yet.

She turns and reaches into a cabinet, blowing by that without a response. She pulls out two glasses and a bottle of unopened scotch. She breaks the seal, fills my glass too generously and puts a splash in her own.

“I’m assuming you still drink scotch,” she says.

“Some things never change, Chrissie.”

She picks up her glass, take a sip, and then studies me over the rim. The hold of her eyes makes my heart accelerate.

“You really do look good, Chrissie. As a matter of fact you look wonderful.”

“I wish I could say the same about you. You really do look awful.”

Something about the way her expression changes makes me more aware of this past year. I make a vague gesture with my hands. “It’s just road fatigue.”

“More like roadkill.” She eases closer to me. Her finger moves to lightly trace my chin and upper lip. “And what’s with this? When did the facial hair start?”

I smile ruefully. “Six months ago. I can see by your expression you don’t like it.”

Her lips scrunch up as if she’s holding back a smile. She shakes her head. “No, I don’t. Not at all.”

Her gaze fixes on me more sharply. The thrill of her runs straight into my veins like an elixir. It reminds me why I’m here. Why I put up with so many unpleasant things to be with her.

So I can know this.

The thrill of her eyes. The sound of her voice. The feel of her touch. The smell of her. Her laughter and little gestures missing in all other women.

I lock my eyes on her. “What are the chances if I shave tonight my room assignment will improve?”

She laughs. “Nonexistent.”

“How about in the near term?”

She laughs harder. “That depends entirely on you.”

My tightly coiled nerves unbend.

“On me, huh? You must feel sorry for me and I must really look terrible.”

My gaze roams the kitchen. Her house looks disorganized and untended.

“What is going on here? You’re living in a multimillion-dollar slum. Are you OK financially, Chrissie?”

“I just have Lourdes since the move and I think she’s a little too old to take care of all my kids by herself. I’ve been trying to hire a nanny. But I’m very careful who I trust. Especially now. I haven’t found anyone I feel comfortable with, so for now I live with mess.”

She takes her glass to the sink and seems to spend a lot of time washing it.

“Financially, I’m OK,” she says without turning to look at me. “I took a hit when the real estate market crashed, like everyone else I know. But I’ve had a good year, all things considered.”

“Congratulations on the new release. I was expecting you to take more time off, and then all of a sudden I started hearing you everywhere.”

“Jack’s idea of therapy: work. For what it’s worth, it helped. I really enjoyed doing a musical animated feature. It was the right kind of work when I needed it. Busy, but private. And the kids got such a kick out of it.”

I’m not sure I believe she’s OK. I can feel a hint of worry in her. “You know that if you need anything I will always help you.”

She turns back toward me. “I’m OK, Alan. I’ve had lots of good things happen this year. Life can be good when you least expect it to.”

I don’t know what to make of that one. “I got to visit with the girls a little when I first got here. Kaley seemed different. Is everything all right?”

Chrissie shakes her head, exasperated. “She is different, Alan. She’s seventeen. A senior in high school. She has a car. A driver’s license. A boyfriend. I only see her now when she needs food, sleep or money.”

“You guys are still close, aren’t you?”

She shrugs. “When she wants to be. Otherwise, not. Our relationship has been through a bit of a strain this year. It’s not always easy to know what’s going on with Kaley.”

“You sound worried.”

“I am worried, even though everyone tells me I shouldn’t be. I expected the move to be hardest on her. Senior year of high school and everything. I think she’s doing OK. I just don’t know for sure. And I definitely should have thought through Pacific Palisades a little more before I moved here.”

“Why?”

Her eyes widen in a blend of frustration and reluctant amusement. “The Rowans live less than a mile away. Kaley has been dating Bobby Rowan four months now. I don’t know what I think about that. Not that I am allowed to comment.”

I laugh. “For what it’s worth, Bobby is a good kid. Not at all like his old man.”

Chrissie laughs. “So Linda tells me. I worry anyway. So there we are.”

“There we are.” I fix my eyes on her face. There is something about her expression that I find not encouraging. “Exactly where are we, Chrissie?”

Her eyes meet mine directly again. “Getting to know each other again, I think. A year, it’s a long time. We both have a lot to catch up on.”

“Too long, Chrissie. I don’t ever want to go a year without you in my life, not ever again.”

“You wouldn’t believe the things that Kaley gets poor Bobby to do, so perhaps I should take Linda’s advice and not worry.”

She just pivoted in conversation. She doesn’t seem to want to talk about us and I am beginning to get impatient with her. We’ve covered the kids. Why is she talking so much about them? Isn’t it time to cover us yet?

“Have you seen any of Kaley’s documentaries?” she asks.

I nod. “Linda has showed me a few.”

“They are part of her portfolio for her USC application. She wants to go to film school. And she decided her work from Santa Barbara isn’t serious enough for submission so she and Bobby decided to do a series on OWS Los Angeles—”

I struggle to listen carefully, enveloped in tinnitus. I can see her maternal pride. There are times when she is painfully beautiful. This is one of those times.

“—Well, they went downtown and Bobby was wearing this t-shirt Kaley got made. I don’t know what famous Brit we can credit for the quote, but the shirt said: America went in one generation from a country not afraid of success to a country that sits on its ass in tents and whines about everything.”

I grimace. “That idiot would be me. However, the phrase country not afraid of success I lifted from Margaret Thatcher.”

Chrissie shakes her head at me.

“Before you give me too much grief over the comment, Chrissie, I should point out I’ve gotten enough shit over it already. Hate mail by the truckloads. OWS camped out in front of my Manhattan apartment for two months straight after that.”

“You deserved it. Network news, Alan. You didn’t think that one out at all. It might amuse you to piss everyone off, but you should have thought that one out.”

“I apologized afterward.”

She rolls her eyes. “Well, according to Kaley, that t-shirt was like setting off a bomb in that crowd. She said she kept 911 dialed into her phone throughout the filming. But that Bobby is a charmer. He ended up having this really long, frank discussion with the protesters down there. How she edited the film with her still photography and collage of interviews made it all very engaging. Well, it’s a really good piece of work. But Linda and Len weren’t amused.”

I laugh. “I imagine not.”

“And Linda has been a really good friend since I moved here. I don’t know how I would have managed without her.” She laughs again, nervously this time, flipping her hair back over her shoulder. “I love Linda, but I wish she’d stop trying to fix my life. She invites me to dinner at least once a week and tries to set me up. It’s humiliating.”

What the fuck? “Set you up? You’ve got to be joking.”

From another woman, I’d take this as some obvious ploy to try to make me jealous. But we both know she doesn’t need to make me jealous. I already want her.