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“It didn’t work out. I had to break up with Ravi, and do you want to know why?” She sounds more coherent than she did on the phone. She doesn’t look half as disheveled as I had expected her to, either.

“Please, enlighten me.” I came all this way already—and probably, in Cathy’s inebriated view, with the sole purpose of listening to her telling me what she’s about to.

“Because, Mimi, she’s not you.”

“Excuse me?” That’s a good one.

“She wasn’t you, Mimi. For two years, I’ve been trying to find someone like you. Someone as classy and at the same time as warm as you, as nurturing and caring. As sexy and kind as you at the same time, but you know what I’ve learned? It’s very rare to find that combination in a person.”

“All right.” I make no bones about hiding my dismay at this little speech. I’m certainly not about to take it seriously because all it tells me is that Cathy must have been drinking all day and she has reached the ultra-nostalgic, everything-was-so-much-better-before stage of her drunkenness. “Let’s get you home, shall we?” I ask the bartender if she has an outstanding bill. He slides Cathy’s tab my way and while I pay, she puts a hand on my knee.

“Does that mean you’re taking me home? Because nothing would make me happier.”

“Thank you and good luck,” the bartender says, before I fold an arm underneath my ex’s shoulder and walk her out of the bar.

“I know you think I don’t mean it. That I’m just a drunk woman saying things, but that’s not how it is,” Cathy mumbles.

The Uber pulls up and the driver looks a bit wary at the sight of my tipsy co-passenger, but I assure him everything will be all right, although I have no way of knowing this. I haven’t spent time with this woman in two years. Yet, it’s easy enough to let time fold in on itself, let the years collapse between us and go back in time—to when we were a happy couple and often shared an Uber home after a night out.

“I made a big mistake two years ago,” Cathy says. “And I know. I know! My very bad for taking two years to realize it. But there are no other women like you out there, Mimi. Believe me, I’ve looked and looked. I’ve swiped right until my thumb nearly fell off. And then I found Ravi and I thought, yeah, you know? I can work with this. I can fall in love again. And I thought I had, until I wasn’t so sure anymore.”

I wish I could close off my ears so I didn’t have to listen to this. This woman dumped me—to use Nora’s word for it, because, sometimes, it does sound appropriate. This woman told me she fell out of love with me. That she needed more excitement in her life than being with me provided. That she was so desperate for something to change, she would sacrifice the most important thing to me: our love; our relationship. To have to listen to this now is more than just a nuisance. Although it’s a fool’s errand to expect a drunk woman to show me, her ex-partner, a modicum of respect.

“I ran into Jen the other day. Did she tell you?”

I give a terse nod.

“That’s what kickstarted this whole thing. I mean, I must have gone to Palmetto’s for a reason. It must have been some subconscious thing steering me there because of the odds of running into you or one of the kids, because we used to go there all the time. It made me think about you and our life together so much, so intensely, I couldn’t stay with Ravi any longer. It would have been so dishonest.” She reaches for my hand and grabs it tightly. “Thank you so much for coming to get me.”

Cathy doesn’t live far from the bar I picked her up from and, mercifully, the car comes to a stop. I ask the driver to wait before hauling Cathy inside.

“Who can I call?” I ask, once I have her safely sitting in her living room couch.

“No one.” Cathy attempts a smile but it looks more like a sneer. “You’re the only person I need.”

“I’m not staying.”

“Oh, Mimi. Please, stay a while. I’ve missed you so much. Like you cannot possibly believe.”

“Cathy.” I sit next to her. “Listen to me. You’re drunk. You’re feeling vulnerable. You don’t mean any of this, and even if you did, it wouldn’t make any difference. Okay? You and I ended a long time ago. I’ve moved on.”

“But you’re not seeing anyone. Jen told me. I asked her because I just had to know.”

“That’s irrelevant.”

“It’s so not. Look, I’m not asking you to pick up where we left off. I’m not that delusional. But just… I don’t know. Maybe you would consider going on a date with me? If we’re both single, what’s the harm?”

“Cathy.” I rise swiftly. “I’m not going on a date with you. I only came out tonight because you sounded distressed. But you shouldn’t have called me. I’m sure you will agree in the morning.”

Cathy shakes her head. “I won’t. I know what I feel.”

“Feel whatever you want to feel, just leave me out of it.” I blow out some air. What the hell did I walk into? “I have a car waiting outside. I’m going now. You’re home. You’re safe. I’ll call Monique on my way home and ask her to check in with you.”

“Monique? Monique and I are no longer in touch.”

“Tell me who to call, then. Please, Cathy.”

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to call anyone.” She waves her hand at the door. “Go. I’ll be fine. And thank you, Mimi. I know you didn’t have to come and get me. You didn’t have to take my call. But I knew you would, because that’s who you are.” She gets up. “Can I give you a hug at least?” It reminds me of the words I spoke to Nora less than an hour ago. How different can two invitations to hug be?