The night after my first speech, Tristan promises to make more time for me. Unfortunately, he doesn’t keep it. He continues to come back home later and later over the next few weeks. Sometimes, even after midnight.

Eventually, I stop waiting up for him. And I rarely see him in the mornings, too. He’s usually gone before I get up.

“Honestly, I don’t know how he survives on so little sleep,” I finally vent to Juliet one night. “I don’t know what’s going on. He can’t be working all this time, right?”

It’s Monday night and we’re watching The Daily Show and Tristan’s still not back.

“I have a few friends who dated stockbrokers,” she says. “And they do work crazy hours.”

“What about that guy you had a date with? Did he?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I just saw him once.”

I shake my head. Something doesn’t feel right.

“So you think it’s fine?” I ask.

“Well, they work crazy hours, but not this crazy.”

“He says that he has to go out every night because that’s what everyone does,” I say. Somehow those words make a lot more sense when they come from him. It sounds completely unconvincing when I say it.

“Hey! I have an idea,” Juliet says. I spot a dangerous twinkle in her eyes.

“What?” I ask cautiously.

“Why don’t we follow him?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m not one of those jealous girlfriends.”

“I know you don’t want to see yourself like that, but difficult times call for dangerous measures,” Juliet says. “Or however that saying goes.”

I’m not convinced. I can’t go along with this. Don’t get me wrong, I want to know the truth. But I also don’t. I know my heart will break if he’s lying…and then what?

I shake my head no, decisively. I can’t do this.

“You’re entitled to know the truth, Alice. I mean, what if he’s screwing around on you? Don’t you want to know that?”

No, not really, I want to say. I’d rather not know it. But that sounds old-fashioned and hopeless and pathetic. And, most of all, not true. Because I do want to know. I just don’t want to want to know.

“And if it’s nothing then you won’t be worrying about this so much. It’s a win-win.”

“It sounds like a lose-lose, actually,” I say. “But okay.”

* * *

The following evening, we take a cab to The Martini. It’s a bar that Tristan mentioned to me a couple of times, the place that they all go to after work for happy hour, the place where they don’t card people in suits.

It’s raining and I’m reluctant on putting on a costume but Juliet insists. So I arrive at The Martini in professional-height heels, a white blouse, a black mini-skirt and my jacket. It’s the closest thing I have to an office wardrobe and even this one I had to compile from Juliet’s closet.

Juliet still straightens and then curls her hair and puts on fake lashes but I take a more relaxed approach. Eye shadow, eyeliner, mascara, lipstick. That’s enough. If this night goes badly, I don’t need to look like a clown when it all starts streaming down my face.

We walk into the bar around 6:30. It’s still relatively empty and we find a dark, quiet table all the way in the back. This is a stakeout, so he’s not supposed to see us immediately, if at all. Juliet quickly orders us two dirty martinis on the rocks with extra olives. On the way over, I promised myself that I would stay sober during this, but one drink doesn’t mean I’ll be drunk. When it arrives, I cave. I need something to calm my nerves. And it fits the bill.

We wait and sit for a while before we see them. I’m not sure how long exactly, except that I finish my martini and Juliet finishes two. And then I see him.

Tristan, dressed in a suit, holds the door open for a woman. She’s wearing a bright red peacoat and high-heel boots. She tosses her hair from side to side as if she’s in a Pantene commercial.

“Who’s that?” Julie asks.

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Maybe this girl Kathryn.”

“Who’s Kathryn?”

“Just someone he works with.”

“Well, I’m not sure that girl has ever been a ‘just someone’ ever,” Juliet says.

I know exactly what she means. That girl is drop-dead gorgeous. She has light brown hair and expensive-looking highlights. She sits across from Tristan, facing us, and we get a clear view of her. She’s beautiful. A small delicate mouth, high cheekbones, a perfectly-contoured face.

“She reminds me of someone,” Juliet says.

I shrug. I’m more interested in the way that she’s leaning toward Tristan and laughing at everything he says.

“Kind of like a cross between Emily Blunt and Kate Middleton,” Juliet says. “Oh my God! Do you see where she just put her hand? It’s on his knee.”

I nod, speechless. I really wish that I didn’t bring Juliet along for this.

The woman doesn’t keep her hand on his knee for long. It was just a pat, a tap, but it’s enough to send me into a tailspin.

I’m lost. I don’t know what I’m doing here. But I can’t move. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I want to get up and leave. But I don’t.

In a moment, the place gets so crowded, I can barely see over all the people who are congregating around the bar.

“Where are you going?” Juliet asks as I grab my purse and phone.

“Home.”

“No, you can’t go home! We didn’t see anything yet.”

“Juliet, I can’t do this anymore. He’s going to do what he’s going to do. I don’t have to torture myself and watch.”

Her eyes search my face for answers. But I don’t have a better answer than that. It’s not that I don’t want to know. I just can’t be in this place any longer. The walls feel like they’re closing in on me. I fear that if I stay, I’m going to scream.

I make my way around the perimeter of the place. I’m not trying to avoid Tristan anymore – in fact, I don’t care if he sees me. But the bar is so crowded, I couldn’t even make my way over there if I tried.

“Alice,” Juliet whispers somewhere behind me. “Alice!”

When I turn around, I see that Juliet is staring at something to her right. My eyes follow her gaze. And I see them.

Tristan and the woman are laughing and they’re so close to each other, their faces are barely touching. A moment later, she leans over and kisses him on the lips.

Everything suddenly feels like it’s happening in third person. Not to me, but to someone who looks a lot like me on the screen. I’m suddenly outside without my coat. The chill of January hits me like a pile of bricks. I look around. I have to find a cab. I have to text Uber. My mind wanders in circles. I can’t make a decision. All I’m decided about is that I can’t go back in for my coat.

“Alice! Alice, wait up!” Juliet runs out after me. She hands me my coat.

“He pulled away from her. He stopped her,” she says.

“What?” I ask wrapping the scarf around my neck. I don’t understand a word of what she’s saying.

“She kissed him. And he stopped her. He pulled right away. You just didn’t see it,” she says.

I pull my coat shut – the zipper is too complicated to operate at this moment.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I ask.

Juliet shrugs. “Well, yes, actually,” she says.

I guess. I guess that’s something. Except that it doesn’t really feel like a victory. I feel like I lost a long time ago. It feels like it’s all a little too late.

Juliet and I take a cab home in silence. She tries to talk to me, but I cut her off. I can’t. Talking just makes my thoughts cloudier and incomprehensible. Finally, we walk into our room. I climb into bed and hide under the covers. I just want the whole world to disappear. I’m still awake when I hear Tristan come back. I look at the time. It’s about half an hour later. I want to talk to him. But I don’t have the energy. When he peeks into my room, I pretend to be asleep.