“I did not break in. I used my key. And I am going to sit down now. Because I had a few drinks in Grand Central Terminal before I came over and I don't feel so good.”

“Howie, are you going to be sick?”

“Probably, but not yet. First we are going to talk about the cigar.”

“What cigar? You don't smoke.”

“Freud said sometimes when something happens that looks like an accident it isn't, and sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. Are you following me?”

“Sort of.”

He held up the key again. “This is not a cigar.” He was speaking very clearly and distinctly now—too distinctly. “It is not an accident that you never asked me for your key. I will bet you a skillion dollars you still have the key for my place.”

“You moved to the country after we split up.” But it was true; Carrie still did have the key to his old apartment.

“Doesn't count,” Howie said. “We are talking about accidents. Which it is not when you call me at three in the morning because you miss me and you are lonely.”

“If this is about the other night—”

“Shush,” he said somewhat dramatically. “It is not an accident that every time I meet a woman—like the woman with whom I was in bed with the last time you called me—”

“I said I was sorry about that—”

“I'm not, because it would have ended anyway. It always does. I meet a woman. She's nice and smart, and pretty and she likes me, and everyone I know likes her, but she's not you. I love you.” He belched dangerously. “I tried to be your friend because you wanted it. But I can't do it anymore.”

Carrie's heart sank. “I thought you were okay with—”

“I'm not. I wanted to marry you—you don't befriend the woman you want to marry.” At that, for no reason at all, Carrie's heart stopped sinking and started to float. Meanwhile Howie squinted at the key, working to focus on it. “I think you love me. If you don't, stop calling me every time you think of something funny or sad or you can't sleep. Take your goddamned key back. It will kill me not to hear from you anymore, but that's the way it has to be.” He belched again. “And now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to go throw up.”

Howie made it to the bathroom in time, and afterward Carrie managed to roll him onto her bed before he passed out. Then she went back into her living room. The rose petals were still on the floor. Carrie picked them up, along with the pretty little basket, and started to take all of it down the hall to the trash. But she stopped. She pulled the dead flowers out of the basket, put the basket in the center of her coffee table, then went back out to the hall.