“Yeah, but he probably doesn’t remember me. I wasn’t very memorable. Besides, he was with Katie, and they only had eyes for each other. It was one of those stories, you know? Love at first sight, high school sweethearts, the whole thing.”

“What happened to her?”

“She died. Some freak skiing accident in Tahoe. So sad, right? She was young, beautiful, and they were happy together, by all accounts anyway.”

I lean back in the seat, food forgotten. “He’s never said anything. I would never have known.” And now I feel kind of bad for telling him to fuck off. Not that his wife dying makes it okay to lead women on to get them into bed, but still.

Presley shrugs. “I didn’t know either of them well, but I did know Katie’s little sister. And through the grapevine of people we went to school with, I know he hasn’t been the same since she died. So, yeah, I know he’s a total douche sometimes, but I think it’s how he’s coping. We all handle things differently. Maybe he’ll get through it, maybe he’ll be a ball sack forever, I don’t know. I’m not excusing him, I’m just saying, it seems like he uses sex as an escape. So it’s nothing you should feel bad about.”

Mark was always desperate when we fooled around, like in a fever. Not with desire, but with the need to forget, even just for a few moments.

It’s not really so different from some of the methods I use to cope with my anxiety, becoming hyperfocused on certain tasks, other people, avoiding things I know will trigger my anxiety. Or I used to, anyway. Except he’s hurting people. Me, Hannah, who knows who else.

Have I hurt people?

My mind jumps to Eloise and my gut twists. Have I hurt Eloise? I couldn’t have.

“You’re right,” I say. “If he wants to sleep around, that’s fine, but he should be up front about his intentions. And with me, he wasn’t.”

She winces. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry, I’m way over it.”

After lunch, as we’re leaving, she surprises me with a hug. “I’m glad you came today. We should do it again. I don’t have many friends in the city.”

“Yeah. We should.”

I walk to the train station, regret slicing into me. I’ve missed out on friendship. All those times Presley invited me to hang out before, I could have had a real friend this whole time, but thinking I would screw it up somehow or do something stupid or embarrassing meant I had no chance at all.

Back home, I pick up the note from Eloise, shoved under the door, and read it again for the hundredth time.