“Yeah,” said Sandrine uneasily.

“And he found … you.” And Jimmy wasn’t covering up his sadness anymore.

And Sandrine felt terrible. “Yeah,” she said, looking down at the floor.

And then neither of them said anything.

A country version of an old song about life in a northern town was playing on the jukebox. Jimmy started thinking about how he had lived his whole life in a northern non-town. And then he thought about how he’d probably die there, too. And wondered if he was going to die there alone. He suddenly got so scared of being alone that he didn’t hear Sandrine say that she was sorry that she had never told him about her and Martin.

“Jimmy?”

“Huh?”

“I said I’m sorry I never told you. About me and Martin.”

Jimmy wanted to say it was okay and not to worry about it, but he couldn’t, because it wasn’t okay, and he wanted her to worry about it. So he didn’t say anything. Which put the burden on her to figure out what to say next.

“I actually thought you would have known, I thought you woulda heard. About Martin and me.”

“How would I have heard?” asked Jimmy.

“Well, you know, people talk.”

“Not about things they know you don’t wanna hear, they don’t. And that’s not somethin’ I woulda wanted to hear.”

Sandrine couldn’t deny that.

And Jimmy and Sandrine didn’t say anything for a while.

And then Jimmy realized that he had lost Sandrine. To Martin. And decided to be gracious in defeat. And took a deep breath. And held it for a moment. And finally said, “Well … congratulations.”

“Thanks, Jimmy.” The thanks were sincere, because the congratulations were sincere.

And then Jimmy and Sandrine didn’t say anything for a while.

And then Sandrine decided that it was time for her to say goodbye and go back to her bachelorette party. And she was about to do so when Jimmy inhaled sharply—as if he had just been startled awake—and asked, “So when’s the big event?” He genuinely seemed to want to celebrate his ex-girlfriend’s good fortune.

“Um … tomorrow!” replied Sandrine, wincing apologetically.

The word tomorrow hit Jimmy like another punch—to the gut. And he couldn’t breathe for a second. And when he could breathe again, he half stated and half asked, “Really.”

“Yup.” Sandrine smiled sheepishly.

“Wow.”

“Yup.” Sandrine shrugged.

“Wow,” said Jimmy again, because he couldn’t come up with anything else to say.

And he stared at his beer bottle for a moment.

And Sandrine watched Jimmy stare at his bottle. And felt bad for him. And realized how wrong she had done him.

And then Jimmy gathered up all his gumption and said, “Well, then…” And he downed his beer, and then stood up and hollered to the waitress, who had said she would be somewhere up front. “HEY!”

He raised his right arm and waved to get her attention. Which was going to be difficult, because the dance floor was filling up. Someone had just put on a rap song about big butts.