“Justin,” she interjects.

“Justin,” I quickly correct myself. “I should have come to your shows before tonight. I should replace the food I eat of yours. And most of all, I should have told you that you were right. You were not an accident. You were not a Craigslist rando. I did pick you for a reason. I picked you because you were the easiest person to play keep-away with, yet still be forced to keep me company, if only during the hours we were both asleep a room apart. I never got a chance to be afraid of losing my husband because he was gone too quickly. But after Decker died, my biggest fear was being alone. Not winding up alone, just being alone. I didn’t know who I was without him. I didn’t know who I was as a widow. And I didn’t want to find out. But I knew I would have to face that if I was left alone for too long. So I scoured the internet and I settled on you. Someone I knew I wouldn’t allow myself to have a breakdown in front of. Someone who I could feel safe with knowing you were just feet away every night when I turned the light off and realized it was just me under those covers. You were the perfect person for all of that and I picked you because of it.”

Everything I’m telling Casey is true. But I’ve actually never articulated—admitted—that’s what was going on when I signed my name next to hers as a cosigner on the lease for our place. Embarrassing and weak as it is, it feels good to tell the truth not just to her, but to myself.

“So you weren’t just using me to get the lease because of my pristine credit?” she asks.

“No. I was using you for your never-ending supply of LaCroixes and spot-on fashion advice.”

“Well, thank you. Thank you for saying all that. I know it wasn’t easy and that nothing lately has been easy for you. So I appreciate it. And now, since we’re forming a circle of trust here, I have something kind of major to tell you. I’m going to move out at the end of our lease. And before you go there, that’s not some knee-jerk reaction to this little tiff we got into, okay? The Museum of Modern Art has offered me a curator position that starts in the fall. It’s not as interesting as what I’m currently doing with the oddities and all, but the pay is better and it comes with actual health insurance. So, yeah. I’m taking the job and I’m going to rent a studio around the corner from the museum. I’ve never lived on my own and it’s something I guess I just want to try.”

“Wow. Congrats on the new gig. I had no idea you were job hunting.”

“That’s because you never ask me about my life, remember?” She winks at me. “So, yeah, thanks for being cool about that, but I figure telling you now gives us plenty of time to find you a new roommate. Or put in notice. Or—”