I’ve been banking on the fact that Blake coming around to a publicity-stunt wedding would be the best choice, but is it? Would I be better off in the long run if I embraced my feelings for Raj? Or should I forget about my love life for a second and scrap Brooklyn Jewels because something even better is around the corner? Plenty of entrepreneurs fail the first time around. Maybe all I need is to put my head down for a year or two to come up with a sleek, sharp business plan for a new company. I wish I could fast-forward through life to see which choice will make me the happiest, but I know there’s no way to do that.

I want to be the kind of woman who would live her life exactly the way she pleases, regardless of whom she’s with (or if she’s with anyone at all)—like Helen did. But I know enough to understand that choosing either man, or any man, would have some sort of impact on my life. If I wind up with Blake, our relationship would be centered on joint ambition. If I choose Raj, I bet life would feel more compartmentalized: work would be work, and then we’d have our world outside that together.

I consider trying to explain this all to Carmen, but I worry she won’t get it. We’ve debated this for years: she believes that everything happens for a reason and that the universe has a plan for each of us. None of that makes sense to me. I think that bad things can happen to good people for no reason and vice versa, and that the only plan that matters in my life is the one I make for myself. I don’t want to sit through yet another conversation in which she earnestly promises me that a silver lining is on its way when I know that’s not necessarily true. Everyone makes their own choices, whether they know it or not.

“I want Raj,” I say finally. “But I don’t know if that’s going to happen anymore. I made a mess. And I’d get it if he wanted to walk away from that.”

Every time I consider this situation, my skin gets hot and I can feel my pulse ticking in my neck. I lift the back of my hand to my forehead; I’m warm.

She leans back in her chair, thoughtfully slurping down an oyster. “He’s not going to walk away,” she says.

“You don’t know that,” I say.

She gives the tiniest close-lipped smile that makes me wonder what she’s not telling me. “Carmen?”

“He asks about you,” she says. “Not all the time, but often enough that it’s obvious you’re on his mind.”

“What does he want to know?” I ask.