“Have you ever been in love?” I asked.

She scoffed. “No.”

“You should try it sometime,” I told her. “Find someone who drives you insane in the best possible way, someone who you drive insane in the same way. There’s really nothing like it.”

“Maybe I will,” she said.

We walked another half block before she spoke again.

“All right,” she said. “You’re off the hook.”

“Thank y—”

“For now,” she said. “But if you and your little honey biscuit end up going splitskies, I want to be the first one you call. I’m seriously getting blue ovaries over here.”

I laughed so hard I lost my balance. That, of course, only made Wrigley start laughing.

We spoke for a few more minutes before I hailed a cab. I thanked her for finally understanding, and we actually shook hands before I got in the taxi.

I look at the clock.

Leila said she wouldn’t be any later than eight o’clock, but it’s already nine-thirty.

I pull out my phone and call her number, but it just goes straight to voicemail.

Maybe we miscommunicated somehow and one of us ended up in the wrong bar.

I don’t know, but I don’t like what I’m feeling. It’s the kind of heaviness that makes it a little hard to breathe.

The thought crosses my mind, but I dismiss it before it has a chance to fully form. I’m nowhere near ready for that.

I order another shot and ask the bartender if they sell any gum.

He says, “Sorry,” and pours me my shot.

I pay him and drink it down, watching the ice cube melt in my tequila sunrise.

It doesn’t make much sense, but I kind of wish that Wrigley was here right now. Despite her general lunacy, she actually does have a way of cutting through the shit and giving some pretty solid advice from time to time.

I’m not ready to make that phone call, either, though.

Leila and I have been talking about how we’re going to find a way to spend time with each other after she leaves, but neither one of us really wanted to take that conversation too far.

I know, on my end, that’s because I simply don’t want her to go, much less admit the reality that there’s nothing I can really do about it without guilting her and being the biggest ass hat on the planet.

Another shot of vodka finds its way into my stomach, and I’m really starting to get worried.

That’s when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

I smile and turn around.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask.

“Now that’s not the way to greet someone,” Mike says. “How are you doing?”

“Half-drunk,” I tell him. “Where’s Leila?”

“That’s why I’m here,” he says.

“What happened?” I ask, and am instantly on my feet.

“Sit down,” he says. “She’s already gone.”

*                    *                    *

She’s gone. She’s actually gone.

After Mike found me at the restaurant, he saw me back home. He even paid for the cab.

His car, he told me, was somewhere in New Jersey, carrying Leila and all of the stuff she wanted to take with her. Or, to be more accurate, all the stuff she wanted to take that the movers didn’t take themselves.

About the last thing in the world I ever wanted to do, especially in the presence of that guy, was cry, but there I was, sobbing.

When we got up to the apartment, there was a note on the table. Mike said he’d be downstairs, smoking a cigarette, and that he’d press the buzzer in a few minutes.

I heard him, but I didn’t answer. I was engrossed in the note.

It read:

“Dane,

I can’t begin to tell you how much our time together has meant to me, but I think we need to be realistic. Yes, I have feelings for you and yes, it might even be love, but you’re not ready to leave New York, and I can’t stay there. I really hope you understand.

It’s been so long since I’ve had a glimmer of what we’ve shared, and I thank you for that. I know this isn’t going to be easy for either of us right now, but it’ll be the best thing for both of us in the long run.

Thank you for making my fantasies come to life. I will never forget you.

—Leila”

And that was it.

And here we are.

Mike’s still downstairs smoking. I don’t know, maybe he left. It’s been about half an hour.

I don’t know if I’m sober or drunk. I don’t even know what I’m feeling right now, only that it’s the worst thing I’ve ever felt.

This is the worst day of my life.

The buzzer snaps me out of my trance for a moment, and I walk over and press the button.

“Yeah?”

“Hey,” Mike says, “it’s me. Mind if I come up for a few minutes?”

I don’t answer, but I do press the unlock button.

Really, I don’t want to talk to Mike right now.

I get why he did what he did; she is his friend, and he was doing what he asked her to do. I can’t hate him for that, but I hate the situation. Right now, that situation is embodied in him.

There’s the knock on the door. I just call out, “It’s unlocked.”

Right now, I’m trying to force an answer to the question of inebriation.

Thank god I remembered to go to the liquor store.

“How are you doing?”

“Did you read the note?” I ask.

He’s quiet.

That’s a yes.

“How long have you known that this was how she was going to do it?”

“She left most of her stuff,” he says. “Well, she took her personal stuff, but she didn’t want to just up and leave you with an empty apartment.”

I mumble something.

“What?”

“I said, it is empty,” I tell him. “Without her here, I don’t give a shit if this place is packed to the ceiling, it’s fucking empty.”

“Yeah,” he says, and that’s all he says for a minute.

 Alcohol probably isn’t the best idea right now, but the anesthetic properties are all I’m thinking about at the moment.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

“Not really,” I tell him. Then I decide I have every right to be pissed off at this guy, “Not with you, anyway.”

“I get that you’re upset—”

“Upset?” I ask. “Did you even consider what this might feel like for me? Did you even care?”

“I know it hurts, man,” he starts, but I don’t let him finish.

“You don’t know a fucking thing,” I snap. “I have never felt what I feel for Leila. Why would she do this?”

“Because it’s her fucking dream job and you need to stop being so god damned selfish,” Mike answers.

“Boy, you’ve got some fucking balls,” I retort, glaring.

“Yeah, maybe that’s a little harsh, but this whole time, have you even thought about how much this job means to her? She’s been working toward this for her entire adult life, and I’d think for someone who professes to love her so fucking much, you might look past your own shit and realize that you need to let her do what’s going to make her happy. Otherwise, who the hell are you and what the fuck are you doing?”

“Why are you here?” I ask. “Aren’t you doing the same fucking thing: not supporting her? The least you could have done was help her move.”

“I helped her move the stuff down to the car, and does it not occur to you that the only reason that I am here right now is because Leila asked me to be here? She cares about you, dickhead, and she didn’t want you to be alone tonight. So you can be pissed at me all you want. I probably would be if I was in your shoes, but at the same time, you’ve got to pull your head out and realize that if you really care about her, you’ve got to let her follow her dreams, man.”

“I want her to follow her dreams,” I tell him. “But I want to be a part of them, too. Is that such a bad thing?”

“She kind of gave you the chance to do that,” he says. “Don’t you remember her inviting you to move with her?”

“I have a job,” I tell him, and yes, it sounds and even feels weak as it comes out of my mouth. “I can’t just leave my boss high and dry.”

“I get that,” he says, “I really do. But that’s the choice that you’ve made. So, you can sit here and be pissed at me or be pissed at her, but you made your choice. Now it’s time to start living with it.”