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“Two or three years ago.”

Or twoandthree years ago, my judging brain can’t help but assume.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was right after your breakup with Oliver. Honestly, I didn’t think you could handle it.”

“Was I that bad?”

“You were inconsolable. You even said, ‘I can’t be around happy people right now.’”

“That doesn’t sound like me.”

“You said it, trust me. You know I have almost perfect recall of dialogue.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.”

“We’ve all been there.”

“Right,” I say. And the truth is, I’m terrified I’ll end up back there again. If Oliver and I don’t work out this time, I don’t know how I’ll survive it. Or I do, and that’s even worse. That’s a hardthing to navigate in a relationship. Tiptoeing around the fact that you’re in a panic that your happiness will be taken away at any moment.

“So what happened?” I ask Emma. “How did you and Tyler meet?”

“He’s been in my orbit for years. You’ve met him before.”

“Sure, but we always kind of thought he was a jerk, didn’t we?”

“He can be. But he has a sweet side...Anyway, I was trying to get the funding for that indie Christmas film I wrote, and Tyler was one of the people I approached.”

This rings a vague bell. She’d asked me to take a look at the script. It was about a woman returning to her small town at Christmas—one of those Hallmark movies that seems to be on every week. Only this one was...“elevated,” I think was the word she used. The main character was a singer who’d had a big hit. Her career was slipping away. And she didn’t end up staying in the town or re-falling in love with her high school boyfriend.

Ha ha. Of course she did! Have youseenthese movies?

Had you going there for a minute, though, didn’t I?

Anyway, it never got made. Such is Hollywood.

“Tyler was going to finance it?”

“He decided not to. But we had a nice dinner. And then I ran into him again a couple of days later when I was in Malibu.”

“What were you doing there?”

“Are you cross-examining me?” Emma asks.

“You want my help. This is how it works.”

“It was some promo party thing.” She stares off into the distance, remembering. “We talked late by the pool and then went to the beach to watch the sunrise. You want the details?”

I try to hide my shudder. Does one ever want to imagine their best friend having sex?

Besides, I don’t have to imagine it.

I’ve seen her fake it on screen.

“Do I need them to figure out what’s going on?”

“Probably not.”