THE LEMON SLICE DROPS INTO the tea, creating a ripple on the surface. I wonder how far down the undulation goes. If it goes as deep as what I feel from tonight.

“Come in,” I shout when I hear the knock at the door. I wait for Joy’s face to come around the corner, and when it does, I feel a little relief.

“I came with brownies,” she says. A white box from the grocery store is plopped on the coffee table. “What happened to you? You look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks,” I sigh. “I’m fine.”

Her brows raise. “I don’t think that’s true.”

I give her a look of warning as I take a hesitant sip of my tea. I didn’t mean to alert her to my demise when she called as soon as I walked in the door. I guess it was somewhat obvious.

“Want to tell me what’s wrong?” she asks.

“No.”

“Mallory . . .”

I take a deep breath. “Graham and I had dinner tonight.”

She squeals, curling up in the secondhand chair next to the sofa. If she’s concerned about what the material might do to her name-brand shirt, she doesn’t mention it. For once.

“Then we ran back to his house to grab some files. We fucked. Then he basically told me, as carefully and sweetly as possible, that we would never be anything.”

“Okay then,” she gulps, slowly uncrossing her legs. “Um, that doesn’t sound sweet. ‘Thank you for fucking me. Now go home?’”

“No, not like that.” I recount more closely the events of the evening. “You know, I didn’t really think there would be anything between us. I mean, I didn’t set out for that to happen. He was just a walking check-off list of all the things I’d want in a man and he wanted me . . . on his desk, in his office, in front of his neighbor.”

She fans herself. “I’m so turned on by that.”

“Stop,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t even know why I’m so . . . saddened by his admission. I had no reason to think anything else.”

“But it’s natural that you hoped, Mal. Or at least entertained the idea. Wouldn’t anyone? He’s leading you on, screwing you—”

“He really didn’t lead me on,” I admit. “He never said anything other than an occasional direction to remove my clothes, which I so happily did.” I sigh, taking another sip.

She taps her pink, perfectly manicured finger against her lips. I hate the way she looks at me, like I’m some kind of project or a lesser woman because I’m struggling in every department of my life.

“You know what? Forget it,” I tell her. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Nope. Not that easy,” she says. “You have to decide what’s best for you.”

“Yeah. But I don’t know what’s best for me.”

She catches my gaze. “Yes, you do.”

My head falls back, my eyes shut. She’s right and I hate it. I do know what’s best for me. That’s the little niggle in my gut, the reminder to listen to logic and not my heart and certainly not my vagina.

“Put your two weeks in,” she suggests softly. “File it with Human Resources and not him so he can’t just . . .”

“Just do what he does and veto what he doesn’t like?” I offer.

“Yes. That. File your notice and come work with me. I have some pull, you know,” she winks. “Or go to LA with Sienna. Mal, you’re single. Young. Gorgeous. There’s no reason you have to stay here. Do something that your soul tells you to.”

I laugh. “Whoa, wait. When did you get deep?”

“What?” she blushes.

“Do something your soul tells you to? Really, Joy?”

“It was on a card at the pharmacy,” she shrugs. “I liked it.”

Taking a deep breath, I set my tea on the table. “I don’t know what my soul tells me to do. I just want things to be . . . okay.”

I can’t tell Joy the rest of the truth, that I hope Graham is okay too. My heart breaks for him. I worry that he’s hurt or sad, and I wish I could show him how great he is and how capable he is of more than just being a CEO. Although he listens to me sometimes, I know he wouldn’t listen to that.

She opens the box of brownies and hands me one. It’s gooey and soft and the icing almost runs off the end. After getting herself one, she holds it in the air. I clink mine against it.

“Sucks being an adult, doesn’t it?” she asks, her mouth sticking together with chocolate.

“Yeah. It certainly does.”

We sit for a while, Joy eating brownies and me watching her. I’m not hungry. And even though chocolate bingeing is how girls deal with things, it doesn’t seem appealing. I don’t need emotional support. I need answers. Solutions. The fact that I realize this is empowering.

Joy leaves, promising to check on me tomorrow. I lock the door and wind up at my computer. The email from the university is still in my inbox.

With a slight hesitation, I click on it again. The form is at the bottom to apply for enrollment. It sits there, luring me in with the promise of excitement and possibility.

I could be done in a couple of years. Most of my generals are done and transferable, and I know I qualify for student loans.

I remember Graham’s words, that I have potential. Is he right? I know I could do it if I had him to ask questions, but I may not have him at all. In any capacity.

A fleeting feeling falls over my soul. My spirits fall, my excitement dampening, as I know what I’m going to have to do. There’s only one answer that’s logical when it comes to Graham. At least I can see it now. “Fuck it,” I say, filling out the interest form and clicking “Submit” before I can stop myself.