3
A month passed – a month of tentative texting with my cousin that had caused time to simultaneously speed up and slow down – and then it was my birthday. The bar where we’d gathered smelled dank and yeasty, and five of my colleagues were occupying various points on the inebriation spectrum. A tray of room-temperature cheese cubes I’d bought myself sat untouched on the bar counter.
Andrea had texted me last minute to see if she could bring her ‘crew.’ Rob, her husband, was just as doting and attentive as she’d said, yet funny and charming and smart too – a perfect man; the kind of man I’d have dreamed up for myself if I could. Then she introduced me to her best friend and colleague, Emily Lee of NewLife fame: a strikingly beautiful woman with delicate features and dark hair that fell in
