I said that I would. I gathered my tools and got in my truck and drove back to my mom’s. I was aware that things had gone badly, but I wasn’t sure why. Because Boone hadn’t told his mother he was in town? I’d never heard her mention a son, or any other child. Or anything of family history, her history. And it never would have occurred to me to ask, even as I wondered about it, never more so than now.

I called the magazine office the next day. Jonathan answered.

“I still have your sweatshirt,” I told him.

“Yeah, how about we set up a rent-to-own contract. I’m kidding. Don’t worry, it’s no big deal. Anyway, I’m in love.”

It was the man from the party. The two of them had spent almost every night together since. It was the most incredible rush. Paul, that was his name, was going to try and get him a job. A job in film! They hadn’t talked about moving in together yet, it was too early for that, but fingers crossed. Everything was coming together!

I said I was happy for him. And I was, even though, at the same time, everything seemed to be falling apart for me. “Do you know a guy, Boone? Friend of Ed?”

“Short hair? Looks sort of like a lawyer, if Ed looked more like a lawyer?”

“Sounds about right.”

“Yeah, he’s been up here once or twice. I think he’s working on some project, him and Ed and Doug. I haven’t been paying a lot of attention because of—”

“Love. I know. What’s going on with the issue, do you need any help?”

Jonathan said that would be great, they were getting page proofs back tomorrow. I reminded him that I didn’t do proofreading and he said fine, just come in and help keep track of things. I said that I would. I wasn’t sure if Boone would be around and I wasn’t sure if he was anybody I wanted to see again or wanted to avoid seeing. I guess I’d let the universe decide. I told Jonathan I’d be there in the morning.

The house was quiet when I arrived, and Jonathan let me in. “They both went to some deal downtown. Did you have breakfast? I’ll make you an omelet.”

I sat at the kitchen island while Jonathan swirled eggs in a long-handled pan. I drank orange juice and ate my omelet while he told me about Paul, who was a grown-up, thank God, in a universe of neurotic, preening children. Not that he didn’t have his adorably silly moments. He was handsome but not in an affected way. Confident but not arrogant. And so on.

“At least the party worked out for somebody.”

“Yeah, sorry. What’s up with the boyfriend?”

“We’re taking a break from each other.”