The email section of my day takes a good chunk of time. I get daily updates from Cristina, Jen and Maggie. And, of course, my mom demands I write to her every day.

I’d like to say that my emails are a pleasant escape, but there’s always an elephant in the room, or rather, an elephant in the email. I obviously told Maggie what happened with Ryan as soon as we left the wedding. She was enraged and understanding and instantly offered to have her cousins break his legs—that’s what you call best-friend status.

When I spoke to Cristina the following day, she vowed bodily harm against Jason for not telling us Ryan was engaged. As it turns out, Ryan filled him in the day they went out for their tuxes and shoes, thus explaining his rehearsal dinner weirdness. Jason made him swear to tell me the truth and was under the impression that he did. Even knowing that, Cristina was still ready to go on the warpath but I begged her not to hold her new husband responsible for someone else’s actions. He was only doing what he had to for his friend, which I know she would have done for me, times a thousand.

I convinced both Maggie and Cristina that the best way they could help me move on was to never bring up Ryan again. They agreed and as much as I’m glad that they’ve respected my wishes, it’s hard to talk to them about what’s going on in my life when I refuse to acknowledge one of the biggest current aspects of it. I wish I could be more open about it all, but it’s like something inside me is out of place. I feel like a bike with a wonky chain, jammed and rusted and going nowhere.

Maggie’s emails are the most in-depth, but I end up writing the least to her. She tells me about work and the problems her sister is having with taking care of their grandma. She wants my advice and wants to know what I’m doing and how I’m feeling, how I’m really feeling, and the more she wants to hear from me the more I want to pull away. Maybe it’s easier to write to Jen and Cristina because they stick to more surface topics. Maggie mows over surface topics with a dump truck. She remembers everything and wants to talk deeply about it and all I want to do is forget.

As for my novel, writing is going...okay. I have three weeks left before my deadline and I’d like to say I’m making significant progress but that would be a gross exaggeration. I’m tooting along little by little, but the ending just isn’t coming to me. Everything feels uninspired and lackluster and I don’t know how to fix it.