asks me to meet him, insisting there’s something he needs to say; Damien persuades me to go and suggests I meet Alex at the restaurant across from his apartment in Chelsea, so he can keep an eye on things from his front window. I’m jittery on the walk from the subway, unsure I can look Alex in the eye without thinking about our faces sinking toward each other like magnets.
We hug hello and get seats at the bar, and I feel it on him, too, something high-strung and uncomfortable. For a few minutes, we make small talk. He tells me he and his wife just made a down payment on a house in Sleepy Hollow; I feign elation.
Then he leans in and asks it, and I have to admire the bluntness: how am I doing vis-à-vis my best friend turning out to be a psychopath, in so many words. It’s a question that feels complex and corrugated every time I dip inside for an answer.
“It feels like a breakup,” I tell him, “the kind where you trusted the person and they did something really bad, cheated on you or whatever. And then you look back and realize you were making a lot of excuses.” I rub my fingers along the condensation on my glass. “And if I were younger, ten years ago or whatever, I would be freaking out about it, I’d be so embarrassed and ashamed that I let this person into my life.”
He begins to protest, to come to my defense, but I cover him up: “I know, no, I’m saying that now that I’m older and wiser, I know not to be embarrassed, that that’s a stupid reaction. I mean, part of me can’t help feeling like there’s a whole scales-falling-from-my-eyes, should-have-known-better element at play.” I shrug. “But then most of me is like ‘Fuck that. You are 100 percent not at fault.’ It’s funny, it’s almost like all the dumb friend breakups and shitty guys from the last decade have prepared me for this. I’ve bounced back enough times to be like, ‘Yep, somehow gonna recover from this one, too.’ ”
“Totally. With your bullshit meter intact. Good for you. At the end of the day, thank god you’re safe.”
“Exactly.”
We’re quiet for a minute, then he looks up.
“So I actually asked you to meet with me because I wanted to apologize.”
It’s one of those peculiar movie moments; I’m a few inches above my body, watching him speak.
“Lindsay, it was not okay for me to be flirty or whatever, and it definitely wasn’t cool for me to kiss you. Jaclyn and I have been—it’s been a rough year, we were struggling with some fertility stuff, but that doesn’t excuse it at all. I took advantage of you when you were vulnerable and I’m ashamed and I really, really apologize.”
Christ. It strikes me how strange it feels, hearing a man deliver an unequivocal apology. He looks away and sucks on his straw, like he wants to say more but knows he should quit.
“Hey, thanks,” I say. “I really appreciate that. Obviously I’m not completely innocent there, but I appreciate it and totally…I forgive you, of course.” I feel like a bad actor stumbling through lines, but I press on. “Also, I’m really looking forward to the reunion and everything, but after that, I think it’s best if we’re not in touch anymore.” I swallow. “I’m just trying to focus my energy on, like, finding a healthy relationship, and you—it’s not your fault, but this sort of takes up emotional space for me.”
“Yeah, I get that. I’m really sorry.”
“I know.” I gaze out the front window; two sparrows alight on a tree that blocks my view of Damien’s apartment. Then I look back at Alex, and we exchange a brave smile. “It’ll all be okay.”
“It will.” He plays with his napkin. “And I’ve got some other news.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Jaclyn’s pregnant.”
I squeal. “Congratulations! You’re gonna be a dad!” A little peal of sadness: Yes, I just told Alex it was over, but this makes it real.
He chuckles, beaming. “I can’t believe it. I know this is an overshare, but between you and me…I was really worried. Fertility-wise, I mean. Because the last time I was trying, it was with Edie, and nothing came of it. Thank god, in retrospect, but yeah.”
I start laughing, which is probably the wrong reaction, but everything about this is suddenly hilarious. What a thing to tell me, seconds after discussing our near affair. “You and Edie