After a nice painful silence, I realize I should probably start talking. I face Adam and try to explain. “Ryan is my friend from college. He’s crashing on my couch this week until our mutual friend’s wedding.”

“That’s cool,” Adam says. “I wish I kept in contact with more of my friends from college.”

“She’s also my ex-girlfriend,” Ryan throws in.

Adam straightens up. I force a smile. “Yeah, but he and I dated, like, way, way back in the day.” Adam doesn’t answer and I take a sip of my drink.

“It wasn’t that long ago, was it?” Ryan asks.

“It was. It was ten long years ago.”

“Really? It feels like yesterday to me.”

I shift my stance away from Ryan and towards Adam, wondering if I can salvage whatever is left of our mini-date. Turns out, I can’t. A minute later, he mumbles something about having to wake up early the next day. He gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and gives Ryan an uncertain high-five. I watch him leave the bar before turning an accusing look on my now-lone companion.

“What?” he asks, acting like we just had the most normal interaction in the world.

“Are you serious? What was that?”

“What was what?”

“You telling Adam that I’m your ex-girlfriend.”

“I just told him the truth, Sullivan. You are my ex-girlfriend.”

“From a million years ago,” I complain. The waiter reappears, dropping off Ryan’s beer and heading to the next patron. “And what about the other thing you said?”

“About it feeling like yesterday?”

“Yes. That was such a lie.”

“How do you know it was a lie? Maybe to me, it does feel like yesterday. Yesterday especially felt like yesterday.” He gives me a wink and I consider flicking him on his forehead.

“You’re a real pain in the ass. Adam might have been my soul mate and now he’s gone. I don’t know how you’re going to live with the guilt.”

Ryan stretches his shoulders and leans down against the table. “It’s nothing a little therapy couldn’t fix.”

“You should probably seek therapy regardless.”

“That makes two of us. Guess I’ll see you there.”

He holds up his glass and I shake my head with a grin as we clink our drinks together.

Two hours later, I leave McFadden’s feeling very happy, very energetic and very, very tipsy. Ryan seems looser than usual but it’s hard to tell if he’s drunk or not. His personality is too out there for me to distinguish the difference between drunken weirdo Ryan and baseline weirdo Ryan.

We’re heading back to the apartment after we mutually—I stress, mutually—decided to pick up pizza.

“Did you ever think we would end up like this after we first met?” he asks as we turn up 41st Street. “Here we are, thirty-two years old and—”