Peter called me at the end of March. I answered because I'd stopped being afraid of his voice.
"I need to see you," he said.
"Why?"
"Alicia is leaving me. She's moving back to her parents. She says she can't do this anymore."
"I'm sorry."
"I don't need you to be sorry. I need to see you. Please. One dinner. That's all I'm asking."
I should have said no. I knew I should have said no. But something in me wanted to see him, wanted to see what six months of consequences had done to the man who'd stood in a county clerk's office and married my best friend while I was in Toronto.
"One dinner," I said. "And then we're done."
We met at a restaurant on the water, the kind of place where he'd taken me on our first anniversary. He was early. He stood up when I walked in, and I saw that he'd l
