It’s only later, when Drew’s deep breathing fills the silence of his bedroom and I’m lying beside him, feeling empty and a little sad instead of happy and fulfilled, that I allow myself to think about what it was that he said to me that night, when I asked him why, after all the time we’d been together, he would say he never intended to marry me at all.

“Because,” he said. “There are girls you marry, and there are girls you just live with. You’re not the first kind, Jenna.”

I bolt for the bathroom and throw up what little I’ve had to drink. I’ve been so careful not to think about that. It’s quite possibly the most hurtful thing anyone has ever said—or could ever say—to me, after I worked so hard to overcome the strikes against me and be someone that a man like Drew could be proud of.

What kind of man—what kind of person—would say something like that?

I lie down on the bathroom floor for a minute, the tiles cold against my back. Then I get up. I root around in the cabinet to find an unopened toothbrush, then I brush my teeth, rinse, have a drink of water, and return to bed. Drew hasn’t moved. I climb back under the covers and stare up at the ceiling.

He said that, sure—but if I make things right between us, there’s no way those words can be true.

* * *

I sleep uneasily, and I’m almost grateful when The Battle Hymn of the Republic wakes me up. Drew stirs but doesn’t wake. I grab a blanket from the foot of the bed to wind around myself and head for the living room, where I dig my phone out of my purse.

“Kari? What on earth are you doing calling me at”—I check the clock on the VCR—“eight o’clock on a Saturday?”

“Believe me, it’s not my idea of a fun time, either. I’d much rather be curled up in bed.” She yawns audibly. “But I’m having breakfast at Dot’s in half an hour with Mitch and Luis. Wanna meet us?”

“I can’t this morning,” I say.

“I’m sure Mitch would love to see you,” she says. “And if someone doesn’t get you two crazy kids together, how am I ever going to get my scoops? He won’t tell me anything.”

“I really can’t.”

There’s a long pause. “Are you avoiding him?” she asks.

Oh, this is ridiculous. It can’t go on for another minute. “Kari, look—I can’t talk about this right this second, but no, I am not avoiding him. In fact, totally the opposite. We’ve talked on the phone a few times and he brought me lunch at work earlier this week. He’s very nice, but he’s not spilling anything—”

“What do you mean, he brought you lunch?”

“He brought me lunch. At my office. Like, in a picnic basket.” It was actually very sweet, and talking about it is making me feel a little weepy, which is ridiculous. Why on earth would I feel sad, thinking of that? Why would I feel this heavy ache in the center of my chest, thinking of that?

“And you’ve been gabbing on the phone.”

“Well, yes.” It occurs to me that she might be getting the wrong idea. “I mean, as friends. I told you, we agreed that we’d just be friends.”

“Yes, I know what you agreed,” she says testily. “I’m just trying to figure out why you’re only now getting around to telling me about your lunchtime picnic. Mitch didn’t mention it.”

“It just … didn’t come up.” Wow, that’s pretty weak, even for me.

“‘It just didn’t come up?”

“Kari, listen to me. It made you cranky when I went to dinner with him and didn’t squeeze any info out of him. I didn’t want you to lecture me again about doing a bad job.” I hear Drew stirring in the bedroom. “And I really—really—can’t talk about this right now.”

“Why are you being weird?” she demands. “Did you sleep with him?”

“No!” Drew is moving around in earnest now, and I can’t have this conversation anymore. “Look, I can’t talk right now. I’ll call you when I get home, okay?”

She’s quiet for a second, and then asks, “Where are you?”

“What?” I say, hedging. I don’t want to tell her. She hates Drew.

“You weren’t home. That’s why I called your cell. Where are you?”

I sigh. I suppose she’ll have to know eventually, if we’re getting back together. “Oh, for God’s sake, Kari, I’m at Drew’s but I can’t—”

“Jenna, he’s getting married!”

“No, he’s not, and frankly I’m offended you wouldn’t have figured that out right away. You know how I feel about poaching.” She should know me better than that by now. “They broke up. And he needs me. We’re going to get back together.”

“Really?” she asks. “Did he tell you that?”

“We haven’t talked about it, exactly,” I say. And it somehow doesn’t seem as appealing as it used to.

“And I doubt you ever will,” she says. She’s mad, but there’s a little sad in there, too. “He’s using you; I can’t believe you don’t see that. Why would you want to get involved with him again when you finally got free?”

“That’s not fair. You know how I feel about him.”

“I know how you felt about him. And he was never any good for you, and he never treated you like you deserved.”

“Kari—”

“And I can’t believe you’d even give him the time of day when a great guy like Mitch is into you—”

“He’s not into me!” I whisper furiously.

Certainly not anymore, anyway.

“He was; I know he was really interested in you. And you’ve blown it for some selfish jackass who’ll just get you to take care of him and then treat you like shit—again.”

“Look, I can’t talk to you about this right now; I have to go. It’s not because I don’t want to talk, okay? But I have to go.”

“Fine,” she says, and hangs up. She sure didn’t sound like it was fine. She sounded like she was super-pissed, which means I’ll probably get the cold shoulder. Kari’s not really one for protracted arguing; she’ll choose radio silence every time. And I know she’ll get over it, probably before the week is out.

But I could really use her now.

I put my phone back in my purse slowly, hoping none of that filtered into the bedroom.

Drew appears in the bedroom doorway, fully dressed. This puts me at a distinct disadvantage, undressed as I am. I wrap the blanket a little more tightly around me and stand up, trying to smile.

But I’m at an absolute loss. I don’t know what to say to him, or what he expects of me. Or what I expect of him.

“Good morning,” he says.

“Good morning,” I say tentatively. “How did you sleep?”

“Like a baby.” He doesn’t ask how I slept.

“Feeling better about the issue at work?” I ask. It’s a stupid question, really; nothing we did last night is going to do much to solve his work problem.

“Not really.”

We stare at each other for a minute.

“I’m going to go get dressed,” I say.

“I think that’s a good idea.” He turns and goes into the kitchen. I stand where I am for another minute, trying to figure out why I feel like I’ve just been slapped. Then I go back to the bedroom and start picking my clothes up off the floor. I can’t believe I left this sweater on the floor all night.

I can’t believe I’m going to have to get it dry-cleaned.

I can’t believe I’m sitting here thinking about this sweater like it actually matters at all.

But if I stop thinking about the sweater, I’m going to think about last night, and I’m going to think about how cheap and lousy I feel, and I’m going to cry.

Oh, look: too late! I wipe the tears off my face, furious at myself. What the hell am I doing? No crying.

I pull on my clothes and grimace. Everything smells like Drew’s bedroom carpet. I sit down on the bed and pull myself together. At least I’ve stopped crying.

“Jenna?” Drew says. I look up and he’s in the bedroom doorway, looking at me.

I stand, and then I’m not quite sure what to do with myself. “I … um. I should probably go,” I say.

“Okay,” he says. “Do you want me to call you a cab?”

“No, I can do it.”

We look at each other for a minute.

“So,” I say. “I guess … I mean, that is….”

“Yes?” he asks—but the thing is, he doesn’t look at all interested.

“I suppose I was just … wondering, I guess. About what we do now.”

“Do?” he says, as though the idea of doing anything is so foreign he’s not sure what I even mean. “About what?”

“About … about us.”

“Us?” he echoes.

“Yeah.”

There’s another long silence, and I don’t want to be the one to break it this time, so I let it stretch until he looks almost as uncomfortable as I am.

“What do you want me to say?” he finally asks.

“I don’t have any particular ideas.”

“Neither do I.” How helpful.

“I guess we could start with ‘Here’s what I think we should do, Jenna,’” I say.

“That’s not as simple as you make it sound,” he says.

“Why not?” I ask.

“Because I don’t know what we should do,” he says. “Come sit down in the other room.”

In the living room, he sits on the overstuffed chair by the television, and gestures for me to sit across from him, on the couch. I sit. I should want him to sit over here with me, but I don’t.

“Here’s the thing,” he begins. “Last night was … was nice—”

“Nice?” I ask.

He nods. “But I didn’t mean for things to go this way. It’s just too early for me to deal with something like this.”

“‘Something like this?’”

He nods again. “I can’t get into some heavy thing. My breakup with Trudi is still very fresh. I miss her terribly.”

It’s like a slap in the face.

I’ve got to get out of here, right now. I’ll just take the train. Maybe I can still meet Kari—

No, wait. Mitch is with her. And I can’t—I absolutely cannot—see him right now.

With no warning at all, I feel the tears gathering. No, I tell myself. Not here, not now. Drew has never see me cry, not once in our whole relationship, and I’m certainly not going to start now. I’ll call Kari and meet her after—

Oh my God, what if she tells Mitch what I did?

No, that’s ridiculous. Kari would never do that, no matter how mad she is. We’ve had arguments before—and I can tell this one is going to be a doozy—but she would never. Sisters before misters, as they say.

But whether she spills the beans or not, I know what I did.

And I’m supposed to go to a movie with Mitch later today.

Oh, God. I can’t.

I want to curl into a ball and pretend none of this is happening to me. Maybe if I’m very lucky I’ll get run over by a train on the way home.

Here’s hoping.

Meanwhile, Drew’s still just standing there. Is he done talking? Is he waiting for me to say something?

Fuck him. He can grow old and die before I so much as give him the time of day.

Without another word, I get up to leave.

As I open the front door, Drew calls out from the living room. “I just need a little time, Jenna. I’ll call you.”

And after years of putting up with it, somehow I just don’t have the energy to deal with his bullshit.

“Don’t bother,” I say, and slam the door behind me.