“Want to sit down for a few?”

I put the lids on the pints, store them in the freezer, and gesture toward my sofa in the living room. I have to admit I’m a little embarrassed at the disheveled state of my place, but oh well. She’s the one who sprang a surprise visit on me this morning.

“So, what have you been up to with your time off?” she asks.

“Nothing really.” I join her on the couch. “Last night, I went to a baseball game with an old friend. And this weekend I’m going on a singles cruise with my roommate. So as you can see, making excellent life decisions, really figuring out this whole urn thing, and definitely ready to be back at work with no distractions,” I say facetiously.

“Go easy on yourself. You’re not thirty yet. Prioritize your social life while you can still stay up later than 10:00 p.m. That said, I’m a little sad it doesn’t sound like you’re making any time for our friend Chad?”

“How do I say this? Chad’s out of the picture,” I regret to inform her.

“Nooooo,” she says with eyes as big as the scoop of ice cream she just inhaled. “Just this once I wanted my matchmaking skills to pan out. What happened?”

“He wanted his future wife to sign a sex contract, that’s what happened.”

I get up and walk away from the conversation with Monica to open up my sliding glass door. I think it’s time we got some fresh air circulating through this tiny apartment.

There’s not much of a view on the fifth floor, but I can see the cars zooming up and down the 405. The white noise from the freeway puts me into a bit of a trance.

“Tell me about Deck,” Monica says from behind me as she joins me on the balcony. “Did you call him that for short ever? Deck?”

I’m not sure I want to go there, but I’m also not sure I can avoid it. Shoving Decker under the rug hasn’t really worked well for me in any situation thus far. So I take a pause to stare down the traffic once more before I gather my thoughts.

“No, not really. I called him Babe. And he called me that, too.”

Monica smiles and her eyes light up a bit. “Babe. I like that,” she says. “What else about him?”

“He was a really good guy. And I’ve been scared for a long time that I’d never find anyone better than him; that they just didn’t make them like that. That’s not me being a dramatic, emotional mess either. Tell me how many guys you know who are content and sweet, genuine and smart, charming and calming? I could go on and on and on about all the ways he was a better person than me. I miss him, Monica. I really do. But for as much as I miss him, and loved him, I’ve finally come to a place where I know he’s not coming back and my only real choice is a new life. Which makes an already-complicated situation that much more difficult.”