I try to censor my answer before it even pops into my head, but there’s really no point. “That he still cares about her more than he does about me.”

“See? Diego could’ve misinterpreted the situation in a million different ways.”

“There was nothing up for interpretation. Yes, I ran after Paul, but only to make him go back to Julia.”

“Did you mention that specifically to Diego? Or did you just go on one of your incomprehensible rants: Paul-Paul-Paul-I-have-to-find-Paul-we’ll-talk-later-bye?”

I want to say I made it clear why I was chasing Paul, but… “I’m not sure if I spelled it out, but it seemed obvious to me.”

“To you, yes. To Diego, maybe not so much.”

“Okay. Let’s say, for the sake of arguing, that you’re right. Diego assumed the worst about me running after Paul. So, what? Should his first reaction really have been to give up? Step aside. Run away.”

“Did you two ever talk feelings?”

“No, it all happened so quickly. And then he was gone.”

“So he’s a little impulsive. Shouldn’t you give the guy a second chance?”

“Me? He doesn’t want a second chance, Blair,” I say, exasperated. “I called him, texted him, wrote him an email basically begging him to pick up the phone. Nothing. He ignored me. Shut me out completely. Our night together was probably a one-night stand while on a job to him, and nothing more.”

“Then why leave and not stay to finish the job if he didn’t care?”

“Maybe he really had a better offer back in the city, I don’t know. This isn’t a fairy tale, Blair, there wasn’t an evil queen who forced him to leave. He left because he wanted to, and the story doesn’t have a happy ending. Happily ever afters don’t exist in the real world.”

“But—”

“Don’t you dare say you found yours with Richard, and it’s only a matter of time before I find mine. It’s what coupled people say to singles, and we hate to hear it.”

“Okay, I won’t, but I’m still not convinced Diego left because he doesn’t care. Did he give the money back?”

“Yeah, why?”

“See? He cares.”

“It changes nothing. The only positive fact I can see out of this whole situation is that I won’t start the new year broke.”

“I don’t know.” Blair plays with her hair as she thinks. “Seems to me you guys are just being two stubborn idiots.”

“Arrrhf-woof.”

“You agree that I’m being an idiot?” I ask the dog.

Chevron gives two positive barks in response.

“Well, what am I supposed to do, in your mighty opinions?” I ask. “I already tried calling him and texting. I’m not going to knock on his door to beg him to talk.”

“No, you’re right.” Blair nods. “It shouldn’t be you,” she says, and spends the rest of the journey staring out of the window, deep in thought.

Twenty-two

New Year’s Eve

On the last night of the year, I sit on the toilet lid and watch Blair do her makeup as we chat. I’m not quite able to squash my resentment.