The address on Paul’s driver’s license is in Riverside, just a short bus ride away from me and close to Steph and Beth’s. The other day after work, I took the bus over and walked up and down Paul’s street. His house is modest but cute. I can tell he isn’t rich, but not poor either. He doesn’t live in a studio apartment like I do. The lights were off. I’m not sure what I was expecting.

On the way back to the bus stop, I thought about stopping at Steph and Beth’s. I don’t have many other friends. I’d even asked Karen to drink with me once after work, and she looked at me like I’d asked her to bathe in garbage.

I catch Steph’s eye while taking an elderly man’s order. I tell my coworker to cover my table, then walk over to Steph.

“Let’s step outside,” I say. I walk her over to the corner where I smoke my Ultra Lights and offer her one.

“Thanks,” she says.

“I’m sorry about Thanksgiving,” I say. “I was overserved.”

“It’s no big deal,” Steph says. She laughs. “It was pretty fucking funny.”

I start laughing too, which makes her laugh harder, and suddenly it feels like everything is back to normal. That is the nice thing about Steph. No matter what happens, we always end up back here—the two cheerleaders with the loudest laughs.

Her face turns serious. “Beth and I broke up,” she says.

“Oh no,” I say. I try my best to make a sympathetic face, even though I can’t stand Beth and think Steph is better off without her. But I know she loves Beth. “What happened?”

Steph exhales smoke over her shoulder. “Beth and I got into a big fight that night.”

“Oh god,” I say. “I feel terrible—”

“No, no,” says Steph. “It wasn’t your fault.” She taps her cigarette on the metal railing and ash sprinkles onto the bricks. “I mean, I was mad at first.”

I swallow. Tackling Beth while she was moisturizing her ashy elbows felt like a fun and normal thing to do at the time, but now, sober, in the daylight, and with the wisdom of space from the incident, it seems truly insane. My stomach lurches.

“But then I realized you were right,” Steph says.

I perk up a bit. I love to be right.

“We didn’t have sex. Our passion had died.”

I give a sympathetic nod, trying not to reveal just how obvious I find that statement to be. “I’m sorry, babe,” I say, then pull Steph in for a hug. I pull her close and sniff her hair, which has always smelled like the beach.

“It’s okay,” Steph says finally as she pulls away.