If Marlene knew what he was doing for her, hiding this from Cathy, she'd call it even. But she doesn't, and she won't, and that suits Adam Jamison just fine.
Samantha looks at John, as the sun comes up over the Caribbean, and they both feel jetlagged and they both feel slightly weightless and heavy as lead. She doesn't have to say anything, but he smiles: All that awkwardness, family you barely recognize, this one's old college roommate and that one's latest fling. The shoes, shined, little creases in his trousers; the veil, ripped at the last second; somebody's dress trailing through the wax of a candle, beer on the dancefloor, the endless questions about children. We'll catch hell when we get home, she thinks, and she smiles right back at him. There is a lot of bullshit that comes with John's family, and though she secretly loves it, to be honest she'd wanted to elope all along. She'd always found the idea dreadfully romantic: One suitcase, and the man you love. And home waiting for you, when you come back.
In the kitchen, Paul is staring, breathing hard and dark. Cathy doesn't get it, at first: She thanked him. She felt twenty years younger and more free. "You haven't been happy for twenty years?" the part of the story that didn't contain him. "Is that what I said?" she finally asks, trying to remember. He nods, angrily.
"That's basically the entire time you've known me. I don't know how to not take that personally. I mean, if there's a straw for me to grasp at, I'll grasp at it. Hell, that's what I've been doing for the last two months..." How much has he been drinking? "Not enough," he hisses, and she goes on the offensive, brushes past, ignoring drunk Paul again. He's not wrong, but the degree to which he's right keeps shifting. She doesn't have it all and she never did. The bomb drops.
"When you kicked me out of the house for pissing on the lawn, I never should have sobered up. I definitely should've never left my house. This is my house, by the way. It's my fucking house. I thought it was our house. I thought it was our dream house, but I guess I'm the only one dreaming, because it's all a big fucking nightmare for you. You know what? You should've moved out! Because this is my house."
She stares. It hurts more than when he told her about the handjob, somehow. In a fresh place. A new bruise.