My eyebrows rose. “Oh. So he’s afraid he’ll lose you to Ryan?”

“He can’t lose me. He’s my best friend.” She popped open a can of Diet Coke. “See what I mean? Already when you get that love stuff you fuss about losing someone or someone cheating.”

“Do you think he’s hot?”

“I never think of him like that. Well …” She bit her lip and slumped into a chair. “I just don’t want to risk our friendship.”

“Now that he’s made it clear he feels this way about you, you can’t pretend you’re ‘just friends’ anyway.” I used my fingers to place quote marks around the words.

“That’s what he said. He said he can’t help how he feels ’cause I’m so cute.” Red crept up her face as though she’d crossed a boundary.

“He’s right. You are cute.” I laughed. “Beautiful. With unbelievably fascinating eyes.”

She widened those gray eyes of hers, flecked with green, and said as though amazed at the coincidence, “That’s just what he says.”

Their friendship evolved into boyfriend and girlfriend and then at some point, I didn’t know when, they became lovers. They went to college together, and by their sophomore year, shared an apartment. Graduated together, went to law school together.

“Too grown up, too early,” I complained.

“It is what it is. It’s happened and it’s as good as it gets. Why would I throw away something so perfect just because of my age?”

“You two have such little experience in relationships.” I worried if curiosity about other lovers might destroy them in a future mess of cheating and betrayal.

“Why would I throw away something so perfect just because we were virgins when we met? Besides, I’ve watched you.”

“Yes.” I touched her cheek. Twenty years ago we had gone through her father Alex’s illness, a lingering tiredness and chills that was diagnosed as acute leukemia. They hospitalized him and he dwindled before our eyes, each day a noticeable loss. He died in one week. I didn’t have time to believe he was seriously ill before he was dead.

He was thirty-five years old.

Thirty-five. Just thirty-five.

Only now am I beginning to reconcile it.

Sky was seven. She watched as I started a relationship with Stephen, got married again, and had Tara. Stephen. His philandering raked me over burning coals. The flurries of sincere guarantees that I was the love of his life and promises that it would never happen again worked for a while.