It’s 3:37 am when I sneak out of bed to get something to drink. As I pour myself a cup of milk, Dylan comes in and flips on the lights. He startles me. I shield them as best as I can, but the bright lights still sting my eyes.

“Hey, I’m so sorry. Didn’t know you were in here,” he says.

Dylan’s dressed in a suit. The one he wears exclusively to clubs.

“Shit, Alice, I’m not having a good day,” Dylan says.

“Neither is Tristan,” I say.

He looks away. Pours himself a cup of water. “Oh he heard? I was going to tell him in the morning.”

“He lost 15 thousand dollars, Dylan,” I say, crossing my arms.

“Oh shit, I didn’t know it was that much. I thought he’d only invested five.”

“No, he invested his gains back into it.”

“Ah, well, that’s what happens.” Dylan shrugs.

“Is that all you’re going to say?” I ask. “That’s all his savings. He lost everything.”

I’m so angry, I want to punch him.

“Hey, if it’s any consolation, I lost twenty grand. Just about.” He shrugs.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t have a rich dad to bail him out,” I say. “You can still afford to go party all night. He can’t.”

Dylan shrugs. He doesn’t look like he cares much.

“How could you let this happen?” I try again.

I have to make him understand. I know I shouldn’t be doing this at three in the morning, after I didn’t get much sleep and he has been out all night. But I can’t stop myself.

“Hey, listen, it was an investment. He knew what he was getting into.”

“But it was your guy!”

“So what? That guy made him $10,000! Would you be here yelling at me if he had pulled out?”

“No, but he didn’t, did he? He lost all his money!”

“I don’t want to hear this shit, Alice,” Dylan says. “I lost a lot of money, too. Tristan’s a big boy.”

“He’s right,” Tristan says, coming out of his room. “He’s right, Alice. I knew about the risks.”

“But don’t you think Dylan should’ve warned you—“

“No,” Tristan cuts me off. “It’s fine, really. It’s not Dylan’s fault.”

“It just sucks,” I say. “You lost so much money. I just wish I could help.”

“I know, but you can’t. No one can. It’s fine,” he says.

“No, it’s not.” I shake my head and open the door to my room.

I leave Tristan and Dylan alone. If he’s not mad at him, why should I be? I rub my eyes. Juliet turns around in bed. She’s engulfed in her comforter and I can barely see her face. Only her eyes.

“Sorry to wake you,” I whisper and close the door behind myself to block the light from the kitchen.

“It’s okay,” she says. Her voice is raspy and uneven. “Dylan and I broke up.”

“Oh I’m so sorry,” I say, changing into my pjs.

“It’s okay,” she sighs. “He’s back with Peyton. Again. He’s obsessed with Peyton.”

Though I can’t see very well, I can tell that her eyes are puffy. She has been crying.

“Hey, weren’t you supposed to be away for the weekend?” she asks.

I fill her in on the details. Simon. Tristan. Tristan and I making out. Tristan losing his money. Wow, this has been a ridiculously long day. Just going over it in a few sentences tires me out.

She listens quietly, taking it all in. Doesn’t comment. I’m grateful for that. I couldn’t deal with a snarky remark right now without getting too emotional about it.

“So how are you?” I ask. She doesn’t respond right away.

“Eh, fine. You live and learn, I guess,” she says.

I’ve always wondered what that expression meant. It’s as if it’s a way to just write off a huge part of life and not deal with it. It seems enlightening and worldly, but it sounds like an excuse. Like a statement that someone makes when they don’t want to make a statement at all.

“So what did you learn?” I ask.

She’s just trying to cope with this. I shouldn’t be putting her on the spot like that. I know that and I hate myself for doing it anyway.

“What did I learn?” Juliet asks like she’s trying to buy time. “That I shouldn’t go out with assholes.”

We both laugh.

“That’s going to be a tough thing in this city,” I joke.

* * *

I don’t see Tristan until that afternoon. In the morning, he goes for a run and then I go out for brunch with Juliet. She’s still distraught over Dylan, but trying to put on as brave of a face as possible. That afternoon, she goes out to a matinée show of A Streetcar Named Desire with some of her acting friends. I’m invited too, but opt to stay home. The drizzle that started that morning has morphed into a full blown rainstorm, and I have a hard time braving the streets of New York in this kind of weather.

The good thing about not going to the cabin for the weekend, one of many, is that I actually had time to edit my paper due on Monday. I was in a rush to finish it before the trip and now, for the first time this semester, I’m actually done two days before it’s due. The feeling is quite exhilarating, I can’t lie. There’s this heavy feeling of dread that lifts off me. I don’t have a dark cloud hanging around my head about a paper that I should be writing but I’m not. It feels so good, actually, that I decided to try to finish other papers early as well. It might be a pipe dream, but it’s good to have dreams, right?

There’s a knock on my door just as I finish reading the last sentence of my paper.

“Come in,” I say. I click save and close my laptop.

When I turn around in my chair, I see Tristan standing awkwardly in the doorway, unsure about coming in.

“Oh hey, how are you?” I ask.

“Okay, I guess.” He hangs his head. “I went for a run this morning. To clear my head.”

“And?” I ask hopefully.

“I’m still finding it difficult to get over the fact that I lost 15 grand. But I guess I’m feeling better than last night.”

I nod, ask him to come in. We both sit down on my bed together.

“On the bright side,” I say. “At least, you had 15 grand to lose. I mean, that’s something, right?”

That was my bad attempt at a joke. It backfires. He looks crushed. I feel like a massive idiot for even saying something like that. Something so insensitive.

“I’m sorry,” I say. Too little, too late.

“No, that’s true, I guess. Just a little too soon, I think.”

I nod, grateful that he doesn’t take it personally.

“So I mainly wanted to come here and talk to you about Dylan,” he says.

“Dylan?”

“I don’t want you to talk to him about this anymore. You shouldn’t have lectured him about this.”

“I was just trying to help you,” I say defensively.

“I know, but I don’t need it,” he shakes his head. “It’s not Dylan’s fault. I don’t think he scammed me. He lost a lot of money, too.”

“I know, but—“ I start to say.

“No buts, Alice,” he cuts me off.

I feel this incessant need to make Tristan understand that I was coming from a good place. I don’t know why. I don’t think for a second that he might already know that.

“It was an investment. That’s what happens to bad investments,” he adds. His voice is forceful, certain. I look up at him. There are flames of anger in his eyes.

“What’s wrong? Why are you mad?” I ask.

“Why? Because you are butting into my business. Do you know how embarrassing that is?”

“I was just trying to help.”

“Alice, I don’t need you to—“ he yells. Then stops short at the end of the sentence. He doesn’t finish it. It’s like he’s afraid of finishing it.

“You don’t need me,” I say. “I get it.”

I get off the bed. I don’t want to see his face. Yesterday was like a dream. Not necessarily a bad dream, just a dream. It doesn’t feel real. I walk over to the window and look out at the pouring rain outside. The whole city is crying.

“That’s not what I meant,” Tristan says.

I wait for him to put his arm around me. But he doesn’t. He simply walks to the door and leaves.