That and how he is my 95 percent match.

Last night, in the midst of all my research, I ran him through my algorithm. Not to trace him back to Gemma, but to see where the two of us would land. That’s when I saw we would make a near perfect couple. I don’t know if I can—or should—ever do anything about that. Why? For starters, it feels like we just got into a fight and we’re in that tiptoe peacemaking phase. Secondly, he may not have yet stated his direct opinion on the Decker-Gemma bombshell, but Brian sure made it clear that he and Gemma had some type of a thing. And finally, Brian said it himself and I happen to agree: maybe I’d be better off divorcing myself from numbers and percentages for a while. Clearly, it’s gotten to me.

I look at him for a moment more, and before he can look away or say another word, I kiss him—this time on the lips, this time on purpose.

A second or two passes and he springs back, blinking his eyes hard like he’s waking up from a dream. A second or two passes and he’s still speechless. The guy who has always known what to say to me and when.

I grab the urn while he’s still sitting shocked on the sofa and let myself out. For as quickly as I made the decision, I flood my own mind with doubt. That’s the problem with going with your gut sometimes.

Back home, I lie in bed with Leno curled between my legs. Casey isn’t home but she was. At least that’s what the note on the fridge that says “Sups annoyed with you. Need to talk” tells me.

It’s the start of my second week off from The Influencer Firm and I feel no closer, no more at peace with things since Decker’s urn came back. In moments like this, I dig for therapy advice and beg for it to come to the surface. Right now, the mantra that rises is “Let it crumble.”

I’ve caused a defect in every relationship that could possibly offer me support or solutions in this situation. With Casey, I kept her at arm’s length on purpose. With my parents, I refused to move home or even visit semifrequently. With Monica and Zareen, I was all business. And with Brian, I sent him mixed messages followed by bolting the one time the two of us needed to talk most. If relationships were binary things—1 or 0—I have always picked 0.

Like branches on a tree, I’ve snapped them all off one by one. And now what’s left is a naked stump. I didn’t set out to do this, and it is no one’s fault except my own.

I go to pull up the schedule for a grief group, but I get stalled seeing that the internet browser on my phone is still on the page I left off in my research from last night: the picture on Facebook of Brian dressed up as Superman for Halloween with the adorable Clark Kent kid standing by his side. I’ve seen this photo before. But right now, recognition hits me like a crack of lightning. Brian isn’t the only person in this picture that I’ve seen before.