Leo: Great friend.

As I weave past fellow New Yorkers speed-walking to work, I stare at that lie.

The last time I felt anything for Lulu, there was no one I could turn to, so I choked down all my emotions. I didn’t utter a word of my feelings to anyone until much later on, when I vomited up the pathetic truth to Dean one night over beer at a hockey game.

As that memory rises, another one does too—telling Dean helped me breathe again. To unknot the noose of emotion around my neck.

I want to move forward, not backward.

Reaching the corner, I tap out a text.

Leo: Actually . . . let me be brutally honest. I meant, great in the sense that . . . hell. You know what I mean.

My phone rings instantly.

Dean wastes no time. “Where is this coming from?” His tone is earnest, thoughtful. It reminds me that maybe I don’t need to process these new twists alone.

Besides, just because I once had monster feelings for Lulu doesn’t mean that these new ones are poised to become the same size. Hell, this pitter-patter of emotions is merely a petering-out tropical storm, a category-five hurricane that’s been downgraded multiple times.

“We just . . . we spent a little time together. Had dinner with her mom.”

“Oh. Dinner with the mum.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“But is it? Is it really no big deal? Time hasn’t entirely erased the way you feel for her.”

“It has,” I insist as I try to sort out the remains of the storm. “It’s different now.”

“It’s different because she’s actually single.”

She’s been single for a few years now. She wasn’t always married to Tripp.

16LULU

Three years ago

When I left for work on a warm April morning, I reminded Tripp it was a half day for me. “Don’t forget to meet me at the eye doctor this afternoon for my Lasik appointment.”

“I will be there to service all of your needs, my lady.”

“Mostly you just need to sign me out so I’m not stuck spending the night there.”

“No soon-to-be-eagle-eyed wife of mine will spend the night stuck in a Lasik surgery center.”

Tripp met me in Midtown that afternoon and was with me when I checked in, signing the requisite form that he’d be there to take me home too.

The surgeon was running behind. Tripp said he was going to grab a coffee while they gave me new eyes.

I encouraged him to get a cup. He was antsy and easily distracted. He kissed me goodbye, said he’d be back in no time, and joked that he’d be even better looking when I had my new eyesight.

The procedure began late. It ended after six.

He wasn’t in the waiting room.

Embarrassment clung to me like bad perfume. They wouldn’t let me leave alone. The nurses kept asking if anyone else could take me home.

“I’ll get a cab.”

That wasn’t acceptable. I needed a person. They wouldn't let me leave without a human by my side.

Tripp didn’t answer his phone, and I thought about calling my mom, or calling Leo, but they worked on opposite ends of the city. I was close to Mariana’s building, and she always worked late.

“Can you come get me and sign me out like I’m in grade school?” I tried to make it sound light.

She told me she’d be there in ten minutes.

She arrived in eight, signed the discharge forms, and walked me to a waiting town car. Her regular car.

Once inside, she looked me over. “Sweetie, tell me one thing. What are we going to do about this?”

Her accent came out to play when she wasn’t in court or at work. She liked to joke that she saved her all-neutral, no-nonsense voice for when she needed to scare other attorneys, but when she needed to give tough love to her friends, she was the girl from Puerto Rico.

I started to speak. To defend him. To say, It’s just one appointment. People forget.

But I couldn't. I heaved a sigh. “What do I do?”

“Is this what you want? Is this what you signed up for? A man who doesn’t keep his commitments?”

I jerked my gaze to the window, staring through the tinted glass at the sea of New Yorkers, wondering where my husband was among them.

A few minutes later, my phone rang.

“Where are you, babe? I’m here, looking for you. I was running late.” I could hear the tequila on his breath.

Tears didn’t come. Anger did. “Running late? You should have been running early. It was a cup of coffee and a phone call. That was all you had to do. Instead, Mariana is taking me home, and my vision is hazy, my eyes are bloodshot, and I’m wearing sunglasses at six thirty at night and it’s April.”

“I’m sorry. I got a call from a supplier, and I had to deal with it.”

“I had something to deal with too.”

“I’ll make it up to you. I promise. I’ll see you at home in a few minutes?”

“Obviously, you’ll see me at home since that’s where you were supposed to be taking me.”

I ended the call. Tears welled up in my eyes. They weren’t from the surgery.

“It’s just Lasik. It’s not a deal-breaker,” I said.