“Pinot noir,” he said. Pinot noir. Of course it was. I was in New Zealand and I wanted red wine and they were famous for their frigging pinots and I should have known that’s what I would get. But right at that moment, I was supposed to be tasting pinot noir in the Otago region with James and not sitting in the airport waiting to fly home early—without him.

Do not cry. Do not cry. Do not cry.

I said thank you to the lovely bartender and took a sip of the wine. It was delicious, which made me feel even more miserable. Maybe I should have ordered a cup of lemon juice as penance for breaking James’s heart.

I had gone on a trip to Greece not wanting to meet anyone, and I’d met two men. Two!

What the actual fuck, universe? I’ve been with the longest list of assholes in the history of the world (that may be a slight exaggeration), then you send me two awesome men, but they each want different things from me, so I get a taste of what it’s like to be with someone amazing, but not actually get to be with someone amazing, and for what? Just to fuck with me? ARGHHH!

Yep, I was feeling quite sorry for myself.

I fished out my phone and started scrolling through Facebook. It was something normal to do in a moment that was anything but normal. But my mind kept returning to my angry, self-pitying thoughts, the mental version of a mouth sore—the kind you can’t help but touch with your tongue, over and over, a kind of masochistic salve, both painful and reassuring at the same time.

Maybe I should just tell Josh that I came to New Zealand with James, so he hates me and leaves me alone.

As I made a serious dent in the wine, my mind flip-flopped.

But I love Josh. And maybe, just maybe, he loves me, and we’ll be together—and not just for trips away, but properly.

I finished my wine way faster than I should have.

“Would you like another one?” asked my attentive bartender.

The tiny devil and angel on my shoulders went into battle. Red wine makes me loopy lala if I’m already sad. But then again, I would rather feel loopy lala than heartbroken. I was saved from myself by the announcement that my flight was boarding. I picked up my handbag and took out my wallet so I could pay for the wine. It took a few moments for me to catch the bartender’s attention, but when I did, he surprised me.

“No charge,” he said.

“No, no, it’s okay. I’m happy to pay.” I waved the card at him. He shook his head and gave me a particularly pitying smile.

“It was the end of a bottle I opened yesterday. It’s all good. It’s on me.” My credit card was still in my hand and he reached across and gently pushed it away. “It’s okay.”