My best friend opens her front door with a frown of speculation. I know she’s struggling to remain silent as I lift the cinnamon rolls and coffee tray in the air to show I brought them as promised. She steps aside, her youngest, Theo, on one hip.

Theo wiggles and reaches for me, his compact two-year-old body a force of muscle and will. He can’t pronounce his Rs yet, so it sounds like “book” when he cries my name under the protests of his mom, who’s working to explain my hands are too full. I set the contents of my bargaining tools on a bookcase filled with toys and reach for Theo.

“My hands are never too full for my main man. How’s my little dude? I brought you an apple juice and cinnamon roll.” I kiss the top of his head, his curly, blond hair tickling my nose. He goes still as his small arms wrap around my shoulders.

He doesn’t respond, just grips tighter when Felicity reaches to take him back. “Come sit with Sissy and Daddy in the kitchen and have some breakfast.”

The promise of sugar has him squirming to get down before he bolts to the kitchen.

“You can head up to my closet. I’ll be right up,” Felicity says, following Theo.

I step over a book, a stuffed animal, and a toy car as I climb the stairs, stopping in Felicity’s room. My best friend’s house once looked like it belonged on the pages of a magazine, nothing short of stylish perfection. Now, a queen bed sits beside a king bed, a half million stuffed animals dotting both surfaces and the floor. The dressers are covered in clutter, and clothes are strewn around the room. Crayon and watercolor paintings are taped to the walls and to the frames of expensive pieces of art I hunted down with her nearly a decade ago when she and her husband, Dan, bought the place.

“I’m confused. Why are you borrowing clothes?” Felicity asks, rounding the corner and making me jump.

“I just realized what to get you for Christmas,” I tell her.

Her eyes narrow, waiting for me to continue.

“A laundry hamper.”

Felicity’s frown deepens before her struggle to maintain it breaks and she shakes her head in an attempt to rid her grin. “If you get me a hamper, our friendship is over.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” My tone is light and teasing, and though I know our relationship has no correlation to Gabe’s and mine, her words tug at a stitch. Without continuing the conversation, I head into her walk-in closet.

“Seriously, though, why are you borrowing clothes? Your wardrobe beats mine in spades.”

I release a deep breath and run my fingers along the fabrics lining one side of her closet. Felicity’s taste in clothing has changed drastically over the past couple of years since motherhood. Her love for high fashion transformed into a penchant for pants with elastic waistbands and oversized shirts that don’t require any special needs for washing or care. “I just need something for today,” I clarify once more.

“Brooke…”

I eye a green blouse I can’t recall having seen before and pull it free.

“You can have that one,” Felicity tells me. “I got it last year as an inspiration shirt, but now it just depresses me.”

“An inspiration shirt?”

Felicity lifts a shoulder. “Inspiration to get back to my pre-baby weight.”

I shake my head, baffled because though her clothes have transitioned for comfort and necessity, my best friend still looks like a runway model, her long, dark hair and bright-blue eyes creating a contrast that is both shocking and unique. Her small nose and rounded lips are surrounded by light freckles that have always made me jealous. “You look fantastic. You need to stop berating yourself.”

She holds my stare for only a second and then glances away. “The pants and skirts that will fit you are on the other side of my purses,” Felicity says. “So, why are you borrowing clothes only for today?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, is everything okay?”

“Things are fine.”

“Brooke…” Felicity pauses. I know she’s waiting for me to look at her. Just like I know that no matter how many times I assure my best friend she’s gorgeous, she allows lies and memories to taint that belief. “What’s going on?”

I reach for a hanger with a pair of skinny jeans and reluctantly look at my best friend. “Gabe and I broke up.”

Felicity’s eyes grow impossibly round. “What do you mean you broke up?”

“I mean it’s over.”

“Since when? How? What happened? Are you okay? Oh my God. Of course you’re not okay. How are you so calm right now?”

“A client canceled yesterday, so I went home early, and he had another woman there.” My voice is surprisingly calm as I recount last night as I would the facts about a client. There’s no emotion, no pain.

“Another woman?” Her voice grows with equal parts accusation and alarm. “Were they…?”

“Yeah…” I press my lips together, the taste of bile fresh in my thoughts.

“Brooke! Oh my God! I can’t believe it. Gabe was supposedly one of the good guys. I’m so sorry. How can I help? Do you want to stay here? You can stay in the guest room. Do you want help tracking this woman down so we can shave her head? Tell me.”

I shake my head. “I’m not mad at her.” When Felicity’s mouth drops with repulsion, I quickly shake my head. “I mean, I don’t like her, but she didn’t know me. It wasn’t her I had trusted.”

“You can’t go into work today. You need to call in sick. Eat ice cream and watch bad movies and bad daytime television and just mope. I’ll mope with you.”

I smile, knowing she would. “I don’t want to mope. I want to go to work. I need to work right now.”

“But, Brooke—”

“If I stay home and mope, this breakup will just take more from me.”

Felicity sucks in a deep breath and holds it before she nods and enters the closet, where she begins rummaging through several items of clothing, taking numerous garments in her hands.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you options so that if you decide you’re not ready to go get your things, you aren’t forced to.”

I shake my head. “I love you and appreciate you doing this, but I need to go and get my stuff. I don’t want to use my grandma’s razor or makeup, and I need socks and underwear and shoes.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Stop,” she tells me. “We can rent a U-Haul, and go get all your things. We’ll get everything.”

I grin, desperate to not allow the sadness to pull me under. “As long as I get to drive.”

Felicity rolls her eyes. “You can’t remember a single pedicure date, but the one time I hit something with a U-Haul you can’t forget about.”

“You peeled the roof back from a covered parking unit!”

She gives me a pointed look. “The mirrors don’t show the top of the truck. Maybe if they did, I would’ve stopped.”

“You mean the mirror you took out a speed limit sign with?”

Her anger begins dissipating, her lips twitching with humor. “That sign was way too close to the road.”

“Way too close,” I tease.

Felicity’s wide, blue eyes shine with humor, and a visible shift happens as her smile becomes less humorous and more melancholy. “You don’t have to spend the day wallowing, but if you want to talk about it, you know I’m here, right?”

I suck in a deep breath and nod. “It just seems surreal at this point, you know? I mean, we’ve been together for so long.”

She nods. “Did he say anything? Does he know you saw him?”

“I think I gasped. Or maybe I yelled first? I don’t remember. But they both knew I was there and stopped.”

Felicity covers her face with a palm and then slowly slides it down to her neck, regret visible across her features. “Did he lie? Say it was a mistake? Beg for you to forgive him?”

“He seemed apologetic that I found out the way I did, but no. He’s done.”

“He doesn’t get to be done. You’re done.” Her eyes sharpen. “You get dressed. I’m going to go make you some breakfast and a huge coffee so you can kick today in the nutsack and make it your bitch.”

Before I can object, Felicity strides out of the room, purpose widening her steps.

“I’m not mad at today,” I call after her.