But what if there wasn’t a fix? Maybe I was broken for good.

Everything in this master-planned community had been carefully constructed, from the landscaping with its gently curved green spaces to the arching streetlights guiding us from one neighborhood to the next. Life should be this smooth, this easy. We passed under a light, and I could see how tightly Michael’s lips were pressed together.

“I’m sorry,” I said, but I wasn’t sure if the apology was for the bathroom incident, the entire evening, or the disappointing person I’d become.

He didn’t answer.

I wrapped my arms around myself and leaned my head against the window. I knew his silence didn’t mean anger, and I didn’t expect him to change the way he processed things, but I felt so alone. This was why I needed friends.

Only a few months ago, I’d have texted Aimee. Just a lightning exchange of one-liners and I’d have relaxed. Once I felt heard and understood, I’d have been able to give Michael the space he needed without making it personal. But now I hated myself, and I thought he probably hated me a little too.

I wished it were all Aimee’s fault, but I’d been the one who trusted her.

If I closed my eyes, there were dozens of memories waiting. The side of her face as she drove us through the heart of Manhattan. Sitting on the railing of a rooftop bar, toasting with vodka gimlets and then almost choking with laughter. Her hands, draping a light scarf around my neck and then turning me so the mirror showed us both. She made me feel smart, funny, beautiful.

At the museum, standing in front of a piece by a new artist and knowing, just knowing that the two of us were feeling the same thing. I loved Michael so much, but art had never meant to him what it meant to me. What I’d thought it meant to Aimee.

She and I had been hired at the same time, and there’d been a moment when we might have been rivals, when we were both the new girls at the museum, both about the same age, both polished and northeastern and trying to prove ourselves. And then she had leaned forward and whispered, “I hate this part, when we’re strangers on our best behavior. Let’s just be friends already. Are you in?”

“Absolutely.” I felt the thrill of an unexpected windfall, something changing for the better.

She’d looked me up and down. “Want to go clubbing after work? I’ll be your wingman …”

I shook my head. “I’ve got a … I’m seeing someone.”

“Are you seeing him tonight?” When I shook my head again, she grinned. “Good. Then you can be my wingman.”