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“Don’t do this. No games. We’re still close friends, Turner, let’s not mess that up, okay?”

I just stared at her, feeling adrift, lost in pain.

She left soon after and I picked up Mac and followed her to the front door, watched her open it, followed her out and watched her get into her car.

Watched her drive away. I might’ve stood there until she returned if the puppy hadn’t snapped me out of it by barking.

I patted her head and went inside. “She’ll be back, Mac. She’ll always come back.”

I wished I believed that.

I was waiting for her when she got home around midnight. Right by the front door with the puppy in my lap.

“Tell me about this guy,” I asked the second she walked in the door. “You really like him?”

“I don’t know yet. He seems really nice.” She paused. “He makes me laugh.”

He made her laugh.

He made her laugh.

It was possibly the most hurtful thing she could have said to me.

My mind went wild, finding the most painful ways to take that, pictured her marrying this new guy, moving out, quitting and having his babies.

I have a very active imagination and it did me no favors then.

Was he the one?

I wished I was still the one.

Had I even been the one? Was I capable of being anyone’s one?

I could barely choke out a goodnight before I handed off Mac to her and fled.

She went out with him that Sunday as well. I was waiting for her when she came home from that, and I was not keeping it together well.

I was not keeping it together at all.

“Have you slept with him?” I bombarded while she was getting out of her car.

I didn’t ask because I wanted to know.

I asked because I needed to know.

She stared at me like I was deranged, and I was only relieved by that. “Yeah,” she said with dripping sarcasm, “We went to an orgy after Sunday school,” she continued, deadpan, “I’m surprised we didn’t see you there.”

I grinned, feeling lighthearted for the first time in days. “You must have been at that other orgy. Pity.”

I wanted to see this guy she wasn’t undressing for.

I made sure I was in the driveway the next time he picked her up.

I was wearing flannel PJ bottoms and a wife beater, glass of Scotch in hand.

He was perfectly normal looking. Not too tall, not too big, not too handsome, not too much of anything.

Maybe that’s what she liked. The opposite of my overwhelming self.