Chapter 11

“I don’t know what to say,” Gina said.

My heart skipped a beat. “Say yes.”

“It ... it’s not that simple.”

“Why...?” I cleared my throat and tried to swallow past the lump. “Why not?”

“Because I’m seeing someone.”

“It’s not serious, is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” I blurted. “You’re not sleeping with him, are you?” Her expression hardened, and I wanted to kick myself. “Sorry,” I said immediately. “It’s none of my business.”

She accepted the apology with a curt nod.

“But if it’s not serious...”

“It’s more than that, Paul. For one thing, I live in California.”

“So?” I said. “We made it work when you lived in Charleston.”

“No, we didn’t,” she said. “Remember?”

I started to argue, but then remembered the truth: Amy Lassiter. “So we’ll make it work this time,” I said instead.

“Can’t we just be friends?”

“But ... I thought you loved me,” I said, and hated the plaintive sound of my voice.

“I do, but it’s not that simple.”

“Then I don’t get it.” I didn’t want to get it, either.

“I...,” she began, but trailed off. “I’ll always love you,” she said at last. “But...”—her dark eyes willed me to understand—”not like you want me to.”

I felt like someone had cut my strings.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” I said, as glibly as I could. “It was just a thought. But if you’re seeing someone...”

“Paul ... I...” She fell silent for a moment. “I don’t know what to say. I ... I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was just a thought.”

We fell silent for a long, uncomfortable moment, but then we both spoke at the same time: “We should head back.” “Do you want to keep walking?”

“Yeah, okay,” I said. “I guess we can keep walking.”

“No,” she said softly, “you’re right. We should probably head back.”

We turned and walked back the way we’d come, awkward and silent.

We managed to survive the rest of the evening, but we were both on edge. Chris wanted to show off his new TV, so we watched a movie on Betamax. Gina and I sat next to each other, but we seemed miles apart.

To make things even more awkward, I had to deal with Leah, too. I wanted to avoid her altogether, but I couldn’t do it without being obvious. She caught my eye whenever I looked her way, but I felt like a complete jerk for even smiling at her.

I think our moms understood what had happened. Mine pretended to be tired after the movie, so we didn’t linger, and Elizabeth asked Leah to help fix leftovers for us to take home.

Gina and I hugged goodbye, but I felt the hesitation in her shoulders. I tried to mask the dejection in mine, but I couldn’t, and her dark eyes filled with tears as I turned away.

Mom and Erin went shopping with the Coulters on Friday, so Dad offered to go on a cross-country flight with me, to practice emergency procedures. He was trying to keep my mind off Gina, which I definitely appreciated, but it wasn’t that simple.

I spent most of the flight in a funk, either brooding about Gina’s rejection or berating myself for some screw-up because I was preoccupied. Dad tried to keep me focused, but we would’ve been in trouble if I’d had to deal with real emergencies.

I called Wren on Saturday morning, but only because I’d promised to. Still, she sounded relieved to hear my voice, and asked about my Thanksgiving.

“The usual,” I said. “Yours?”

“Pretty good. Scarlett and her family came over. She asked about you, by the way. I told her you might wanna hang out, but...”

I knew my cue when I heard it. “Are you busy this afternoon?”

“I’d love to!”

“Um ... okay. What do you feel like doing?”

“I dunno. Do you wanna see a movie or something?”

“I guess,” I said, and we made plans.

Scarlett and Mitch joined us for the movie, along with Scarlett’s sixteen-year-old sister, Suellen, and her boyfriend.

In a whisper, Wren explained, “Aunt Margaret sort of has a thing for Gone with the Wind.”

“Do they have a sister named Careen?” I whispered back.

Wren blushed. “Um ... no.”

“But...?”

“Their brother’s name is Ashley. He’s thirteen.”

I actually laughed aloud, the first time in days.

“What’s so funny?” Scarlett said as they returned with popcorn.

“Nothing,” I lied.

“All right, then c’mon,” Scarlett said. “I don’t wanna miss the previews.”

Wren and I shared a grin, but then I had a sudden thought of Gina. I tried to keep my face from falling, but Wren saw. She didn’t hide her reaction any better, so I felt like a heel. Again.

We saw The Man from Snowy River, but I watched half-heartedly, and Wren sat woodenly beside me. She didn’t know what to do any more than I did, and I hated myself for being so messed up. For the umpteenth time, I wondered if I was a creep or a jerk.

Then again, did it make any difference?

Gina called on Sunday morning. She was packing to fly back to LA, but she wanted to see me before she left.

“Sure,” I said unenthusiastically. “You want me to come over?”

“Um ... I’d better come to your house.”

“Because of Leah?”

She paused. “She really likes you, you know. You could—”

“I don’t want Leah,” I said, a bit tersely. I left the rest unspoken, but Gina understood.

“I know, Paul, and I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“But I want to talk before I go,” she said. “It’s important.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Of course you do. And I’ll understand if you don’t want to.”

“I can’t change the way I feel,” I said. “About you, I mean.”

“Neither can I,” she said softly, sadly.

“Yeah, and that’s the problem.”

“Paul, don’t be like that.”

“Sorry,” I said, but I couldn’t bring myself to sound convincing.

“I mean it,” she said. “If I could make you happy, I would, but...”

“But you’re seeing someone,” I said, and frowned at the bitterness in my voice.

“It’s not that, and you know it,” she said. “Hold on.” She covered the phone, but came back after a few seconds. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. Okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

We said goodbye and I hung up.

I watched the clock for an eternity, and almost jumped at the sound of the doorbell. Gina forced a smile when I opened the door, but she looked like she’d been crying. I gestured for her to come in, and we headed to my room. She sat on the edge of the bed and waited until I closed the door.

“I wish I could make you happy,” she said, “but I can’t. You don’t want me. You—”

“Yes I do,” I blurted.

“You don’t,” she said flatly. “You want what we used to have.” She stared at her hands and wrung them silently. “Paul,” she said after a moment, “you’re my best friend, but I don’t want to hurt you again, and I know I will.”

“But—”

“Just hear me out,” she said. “I still love you, Paul—you have to believe that—but I’m not the girl I was when we first started dating. I’m a woman now, and I know what I want.”

“And you don’t want me,” I rasped.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, and looked up, her dark eyes filled with tears. “I’m a different person now. Besides, you wouldn’t be happy with me.”

“But I’d like the chance.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Would you move to LA?” she asked, but it was rhetorical. “Change schools? Leave Professor Joska?”

My stomach lurched, but I ignored it. “In a heartbeat.”

“Would you really?” she said. “Think about it, Paul. Leave Professor Joska? He’s the best thing that ever happened to you, and you know it. You might not admit it, but you know it’s true.”

“I don’t love him.”

“You don’t think so?”

I shook my head stubbornly.

“You love what he represents. I know you, remember?” She paused to let her words sink in. “And what about Trip?” she continued. “Would you leave him? Trade your business for me?” She laughed, but it was a scornful sound.

“I would,” I swore.

“Well, you shouldn’t. Besides, you’re not like that.”

“So what should I do? Tell me, and I’ll do it.”

“I need friends more than anything,” she said softly, and wiped her cheeks.

“Is it the other guy?”

“This has nothing to do with ... him,” she said impatiently.

“How come you didn’t tell me about him? Does he even exist?”

“Does he—? Have I ever lied to you?”

“No,” I said, albeit reluctantly.

“He’s a first-year medical student,” she said. “We met at the hospital over the summer.”

“Does he—?”

“I’m not going to talk about him, Paul. That’s not what I came here for. Besides, you have lots of women in your life.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Wren. Christy. Leah.”

“Hold on,” I said abruptly. “What makes you think I’m interested in Christy?”

“I can read between the lines, Paul. I’m not stupid. You draw with her ... what? Every Saturday? And you hang out all the time? Your letters are full of things like ‘Christy said this,’ and ‘Christy said that.’”

“Because she’s my friend.”

“Then what about Wren? Or Leah?”

“They’re just friends. Besides, what about the Coulter sisters’ rule?”

“Paul, you’re one of the few men who’s slept with all three of us, so the normal rules don’t apply to you. If you and Leah want to—”

“I told you,” I said, “I want you. Not Leah. Not Kara. You.”

“And I want a friend. I need a friend, Paul.”

“So that’s my only choice? Friendship or nothing?”

She folded her hands in her lap. “I guess it is. I hope...” She paused and swallowed hard. “I mean, I want...” She looked around the room, as if it had the answers. “I know what I want, Paul.”

I saw the steel in her dark, tear-filled eyes, and knew I had to make a choice. Was her happiness more important than my own? I knew the answer, but I didn’t want to face it. I hung my head and pressed a finger and thumb to my eyes. I pressed hard and felt moisture between my lashes.

“Please, Paul,” she whispered, a ragged edge of tears in her voice. “Please.”

I felt like a hole had opened in my heart, but I willed myself to open my eyes and look at her. I swallowed hard and blinked to clear my eyes. Finally, I nodded.

She stood and fidgeted, uncertain what to do. I could read her body language—she wanted to hug me, but she didn’t want to send the wrong signal. I almost laughed at her predicament.

Instead, I pulled her into my arms and hugged her. She relaxed and squeezed me tight, completely familiar, yet completely beyond my reach.

Wren was quiet during the flight home. I wasn’t in a talkative mood myself, so I hardly noticed. I returned the plane keys and log book to the FBO, and we walked out to the Cruiser. Then we drove to short-term parking at the main terminal.

Christy’s flight wasn’t due for another half-hour, so we waited in the deserted gate area. Wren sat silently, lost in thought, while I stared into space and replayed my conversation with Gina.

“You saw her this weekend,” Wren said at last. “Didn’t you?”

“Saw who?”

“Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“What?”

“You know who. Gina. You saw her, didn’t you?”

I thought about lying, but I was sick of it all. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to speak.

She read my silence for the admission it was. “That’s what I thought.”

I kept my mouth shut.

“You still have feelings for her, don’t you?” She waited as I wrestled with my conscience. “Well?” she said.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me the truth,” she said, her voice raw with emotion. “You still have feelings for her, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

She let out a breath like someone had punched her. “Well,” she said at last, “at least I know where I stand.”

“It’s not like that, Wren.”

“Then what is it like?”

“I ... I don’t know.”

She laughed scornfully. “So now you’re going to be honest?”

I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but I felt even lower than before.

“I knew what was going on,” she said, to herself as much as me, “but I kept telling myself that you’d never do that. Did you think you could have two girlfriends? Like before?”

“No.”

“Then ... what?” she said sarcastically.

I leapt to my feet. “What am I supposed to say? That I’m a lying scumbag? A jerk? A creep?”

“Well, you are.”

“You think I don’t know that?” I half-shouted. “You think I don’t know what I am? What?” I practically screamed. “You think I don’t know that?”

She fell silent in the face of my tirade.

I looked around, suddenly conscious of my surroundings, but the gate was still empty.

“Then why’d you do it?” she said.

“Because I’m an idiot,” I said harshly. “Because I don’t know when something’s over. Because I don’t know a good thing”—I gestured at her—”when I see it.”

“So she turned you down?” Wren said.

“Of course she did,” I spat. “Wouldn’t you?” I wanted to clench my fists and howl in frustration. “What was I thinking?” I rounded on her. “I’ll tell you what it was. ‘Go for the sure thing, instead of taking a chance—’”

“‘Taking a chance’?” she cried. “You knew how I felt and you still treated me like a back-up plan?”

I bit off an angry response and threw myself into the chair instead. “Pretty stupid,” I said sullenly, “huh?”

“Incredibly stupid,” she said, but without much heat.

We fell into an uncomfortable silence.

“For what it’s worth,” I said at last, “I’m sorry.” I shrugged, angry at myself more than anything. “If you never want to speak to me again, I’ll—”

“What is it with you and melodrama?” she said harshly. “Do you need it to survive or something?”

I blinked in confusion.

“Everything’s so totally black and white with you.” She made a simpering face and mocked me, “‘If you never want to speak to me again, I’ll understand.’ Blah, blah, blah. Total melodrama! Like I’m that simple. Ugh!”

I didn’t understand, and my expression said so. Loud and clear.

She scoffed. “I’ve dated bigger jerks than you.” When I still didn’t understand, she rolled her eyes. “God! How dense can you be?”

“Very, evidently,” I muttered.

“You got that right.”

“So ... what?” I said, still confused. “You’re not upset?”

“Oh, I’m upset all right.”

“But you still want to be friends?”

“Not at the moment,” she said flatly, “but I’m not that shallow.”

“Then ... I don’t get it.”

“And you never have, apparently.”

Anything I said would make me look worse than I already did (hard to believe, I know), so I kept my mouth shut.

She stood and paced. “I’m not some consolation prize,” she said. “You don’t get to hop into bed with me when your ex-girlfriend turns you down.”

I shot to my feet. “You think I’m that shallow?”

“Yeah, right,” she said sarcastically.

“Now you don’t get it.”

“Like I’m supposed to believe you.”

“Oh, get off your high horse,” I snapped. “You don’t have all the answers. Not any more than I do. If you think it’s just about sex, then you’re the shallow one.” I paused to let my words sink in. “I like you, Wren, and I thought you liked me.”

“So it wasn’t about getting laid?” she said, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe it. “And you want me to believe you actually like me?” She shook her head in annoyance. “Wait! Can you even tell the difference?”

“Better than you,” I shot back.

She blinked as if I’d slapped her.

“Of course I like you,” I said irritably. “Why do you think I feel like such a miserable jerk?”

“Because you are a miserable jerk?”

“At least we agree on something,” I said sarcastically, although part of me really meant it.

Christy’s flight had arrived, but we ignored the first passengers as they emerged from the jetway.

“So, what do we do now?” I said at last.

“Hey,” Christy said from close by.

Wren and I turned at the same time.

“What’s going on?” Christy said.

Wren and I looked at each other. Her mask of defiance slipped, but not much. “We’re having a fight,” she said at last.

“Oh?” Christy said as another passenger jostled her. “Who started it?”

“I did,” I said.

“Hold on,” Christy said, “you’re serious? You’re really having a fight? Do you want me to give you a minute?” After we both ignored her and continued to stare at each other, she said, “Okay, what happened?”

“I saw Gina this weekend,” I said. “I wanted to get back together, but—”

“That was dumb,” Christy said.

“—she turned me down,” I finished. I broke eye contact with Wren and looked at Christy. “Yeah, it was dumb,” I said, annoyed, “but I’m only human, and I do dumb things sometimes. Okay?”

“Hey,” Christy said, “don’t get mad at me.”

I huffed and looked away. “Yeah, sorry. I guess I’m being a jerk to everyone today.” I turned back to Wren. “I really do like you. A lot. And I hope you still want to be friends, but I’ll understand if—”

“God!” Wren cried. “Not the melodrama again! I can’t stand it when you get all gloom and doom, like it’s the end of the world or something.”

“So that means...?”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t dump my friends just because they’re jerks sometimes.”

Christy tried to deflect some of Wren’s anger. “I’m a jerk sometimes,” she said, “and she’s still friends with me.”

Wren looked at her dubiously.

“Okay, so I’m not really a jerk,” Christy admitted, “but I do dumb things sometimes. Like, I can’t even balance my own checkbook. I had to ask my brother to help. We found a bunch of money, though. I’d missed a decimal place. Or two.” She brightened. “Good thing, too, ‘cause I wrote a couple of big checks on Friday. You should see what I got, though! They had a sale at...” She saw our expressions and trailed off. “What?”

Wren gave her a look that said, “What do you think? You’re chattering.”

“But it was Bullocks Wilshire,” Christy said feebly. “You don’t understand. Besides, you’re not going to stop being friends because he’s a jerk. You’ve dated guys who were bigger jerks.”

Wren didn’t look away, but she tried to keep a stony expression as I laughed at the irony.

“Well, she has,” Christy said to me. “You’re just an amateur jerk. She’s known some real pros. She has this bad habit of falling for them.” She pretended to look surprised at the idea. “Maybe that’s why she likes you.”

“Maybe,” I said ruefully. Then I looked at Wren. “Still friends?”

She threw her hands in the air. “Ugh!”

“That’s a yes,” Christy stage-whispered.

Wren stormed away, and we hurried to catch up.

“You owe me,” Christy said quietly, in a real whisper instead of a stage one.

“Yeah, thanks,” I said.

“Just don’t do anything stupid.” She shot me a quick glance. “Anything else, I mean.” She shook her head in disbelief. “You wanted to get back together with Gina? Sometimes I think...” She shook her head again. “You really don’t understand women, do you?”

“I thought I did,” I muttered.

“Well, you don’t.”

Evidently not.

Our usual group ate breakfast together on Monday, and we talked about our weekends. I was subdued, so Christy drew a caricature of me as a dour statue, complete with pigeons roosting on my head. She took my bleak smile as a challenge, and began adding caricatures of the other people around the table.

Wren was an old woman feeding the pigeons, while Trip was a goofy businessman with a pair of birds nesting in his hat. Jeff and Meredith were star-struck lovers, oblivious to the squirrels mocking them with a spot-on imitation. Ash was an eager photographer who was trying to shoot everything at once.

“Okay, Miss Smarty Pants,” Wren finally snapped, “where are you?”

Christy feigned innocence. “Me?”

“Yes, you!”

Christy thought about it for a second and smirked. With a few quick strokes, she added something to the picture and then turned it to show us. She’d drawn an artist’s hand with a pencil, which was adding the finishing touches to the base of the statue. “There,” she said with satisfaction.

Meredith and Jeff actually applauded, while Ash just smiled. Wren tried to look sour, but Trip nudged her and grinned.

“It is kinda funny,” he said.

“You weren’t an old woman,” Wren said.

He shrugged. “I had birds in my hat.” He gathered his things. “Anyway, we’d better get a move on. It’s almost eight o’clock.” He looked at Wren. “You coming? Or do you need a cane?”

“I don’t need a cane,” she said, and stood abruptly.

She looked so indignant that the rest of us laughed, even me.

“I’ll get you for this,” she said to Christy. She didn’t mean it, of course, but she still tried to look menacing.

Trip crowed in a falsetto, “And your little dog too!”

The others roared with laughter, and Wren huffed and stormed off.

Trip merely grinned and jogged to catch up with her.

Jeff and Meredith took their leave outside, and Christy, Ash, and I headed toward the A&A building.

“Sorry about the caricatures,” Christy said to us, “but the mood was a little heavy.”

“I thought it was a cute picture,” Ash said. “I wish I could draw like that.”

“And I wish I could take pictures like you,” Christy said.

“Really?”

“Absolutely. You’re really good.”

Ash beamed. “Wow, thanks!” She waved and headed toward the photography studios.

“My job here is done,” Christy said smugly, but then gave me a sly look. “Except for you, of course.”

“Me?”

“Mmm hmm. Wren was right—you are all gloom and doom.” Her blue eyes twinkled as she smiled. Then she feigned a pout. “So serious.”

I rolled my eyes.

“You’re more handsome when you smile.”

“I don’t have much to smile about.”

“Nonsense. You have everything to smile about.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Like me,” she said with a girlish shrug.

I arched an eyebrow.

“If you can’t smile about me,” she said, undaunted, “you can’t smile about anything.” The bell rang for class, and she grinned. “Saved again.”

I actually laughed as she twirled and hurried away. She grinned at me over her shoulder, and I felt my mood lighten. I still didn’t have much to smile about, but for the moment I did, so I enjoyed it.

Wren and I slowly grew more comfortable around each other. We didn’t have much choice, since we spent so much time together. Along with Trip and Christy, we ate together, studied together, and even went to the gym together.

I told Trip about Gina, and the blow-up with Wren. He knew how I felt, so he tried to keep me occupied (to keep me from brooding). Christy did the same with Wren, and they quickly drove us crazy with their relentless good moods.

“She’s like a psycho cheerleader,” Wren complained one morning.

“Tell me about it,” I said. “Trip won’t let me have a moment’s peace.”

“I guess it’s ‘cause they care, but still ... I wish they’d just leave us alone.”

I barked a laugh. “Fat chance of that.”

“Still...”

“Yeah.”

We walked in silence for a minute, each of us lost in thought, until she asked, “When we first met, did you ever think we’d end up like this?”

“Like what?” I said. “Awkward and uncertain? Annoyed by our best friends? Totally confused?”

She laughed. “No. Well ... maybe the last.”

I shrugged.

“I’m still angry with you,” she said.

“I probably still deserve it.”

“Eh, maybe. I think I’m angry with myself, too.”

I looked a question at her, and she shrugged.

“I knew what was going on,” she said, “but I lied to myself as much as you did.”

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

She shrugged again and we walked in silence for a moment. “I still think about you a lot,” she said softly, “but it’s different now.”

“Different?”

“I can’t explain it. I still think about ... you know...” She gave me a furtive glance and blushed. “But I like hanging out with you, too. I guess I’m getting to know you better, flaws and all.”

“Yeah, well, I have enough of ‘em.”

“We all do, but that’s not what I meant.” She struggled for words. “I guess I’m getting to know the real you, not the guy I thought I knew.”

“I know what you mean,” I said. “It’s like we’ve had our share of drama, so now we’re moving on to friendship. Real friendship, I mean. Like...” I cleared my throat and took a gamble. “Like Gina and me.”

She stiffened at the name, but then forced herself to relax. “Have you talked to her? Since ... you know?”

I shook my head.

“Are you still friends?”

“I hope so,” I said softly.

She considered for a moment. “I hope so too.”

“But ... why?”

“I dunno. I guess because of what it says about you. You know? Maybe we’ll always be friends too. We never really dated, but—”

“Not yet at least.” I shot her a comically hopeful glance.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she said, but suppressed a grin.

I shrugged and half-hid a grin of my own.

“But you know what I mean,” she continued. “You and Gina went through a lot, but you’re still friends.” She shrugged. “I hope it’s the same for us.”

“Me too,” I said.

“Do you think you’ll ever be friends with Kendall again?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I think it’ll take a long time for her to get over me.”

“Listen to you,” Wren teased.

“That’s not what I meant,” I said. “It’s not like I’m God’s gift to women or something.”

“You can say that again.”

“But you know what I mean,” I continued. “I’m the one who broke up with her, so I’m not still in shock.” I shrugged. “I don’t think Kendall realized things were so bad. She said she did, but I think she was just placating me. You know? We tried, but we always went back to the way things were.”

Wren nodded quietly.

“Even after we broke up, she kept trying to fix things, to get me back.” I shrugged and thought back to my breakup with Gina. “I guess I did the same with Gina. So I know what Kendall’s going through. I mean, it took me a long time to get over Gina.”

“I’ll say,” Wren said softly, a bit ruefully.

“Yeah, sorry. I guess I fall hard when I fall in love.”

“As long as you fall for the right person.”

“Yeah, and Kendall wasn’t her,” I said. “Gina isn’t either, but I don’t think I’m entirely convinced.” I shot a glance at Wren. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but I guess you deserve the truth. For a change.”

She smiled, but it was tinged with sadness.

“I guess I don’t know what I want,” I said at last. I shot her a sidelong glance and felt my hopes rise. I covered it with a rueful snort. “I want to get laid, of course—”

“Tell me about it!”

“—but that would probably make things even more complicated. You know?”

She nodded.

“So I guess it’s good that I screwed things up with you and me.”

“You sure have a weird idea of good.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I said, “but would you really want to find out that your hypothetical boyfriend still had feelings for his old flame? Or would you rather find out before things got that far? Between you and me, I mean.”

“Yeah, I see what you mean.”

“So it’s a good thing. Except for the lying and stuff. That wasn’t good.”

She shook her head in agreement.

“So I promise not to do it again.”

“Good. And I promise not to lie to myself.”

I nodded and ventured a smile.

She returned it, and we finished our walk in a comfortable silence.

On Sunday, I took a break from studying to call Erin and wish her a happy birthday. She and a group of friends were going to the mall, so she couldn’t talk long. She thanked me for calling, but I could hear her friends in the background, so I said goodbye and hung up.

I tried to go back to studying, but I couldn’t keep my mind on what I was reading. My thoughts wandered to Gina and stubbornly refused to move on. After twenty minutes of re-reading the same paragraph, I took a chance and called her. She sounded surprised to hear from me, but she also sounded relieved.

“I thought after ... you know,” she said, and I could almost hear her shrug.

“Yeah, I know.”

“I really am sor—”

“Can we move on?” I said, too abruptly. “I mean, my ego is bruised enough, and it doesn’t help when you remind me.”

“Sorry,” she said softly. “We’ll talk about something else.”

“Thanks.”

“So ... um...,” she said, “what should we talk about?”

“To tell you the truth,” I said, “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Yeah, I’m glad to hear yours too.”

“So, what are you up to?” I said, and we began a tentative conversation.