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“No, no. I’m just surprised you never said anything before.

She shrugged. “I don’t think about it much. I have a great life, the career I dreamed of, friends like you.”

“I’d like to propose a toast,” I said. “To you—for knowing what you want and don’t and for living your best life accordingly.”

We clinked glasses. “By the way,” she said, “I think Perils is seeing Toderick again.”

I rolled my eyes. “They’d better elope this time,” I said. “I’m not buying them a third wedding present.”

“And I’m not buying a third bridesmaid dress or planning another shower.”

“Amen,” I added, and we clinked glasses again.

Monday, December 9, 2019, St. Jude—I ran into Jackson unexpectedly again at the mall today. I was wandering aimlessly when I heard, “Oren?”

I wheeled around. “Jackson!”

I stared at him. He was dressed all in gray: gray jeans tucked into gray-and-black Doc Martens, and a dove-gray cable-knitturtleneck under a pebble-gray sheepskin bomber jacket lined with shearling. I was startled because it wasn’t anything from our shared wardrobe. In all our years together, Jackson had never shopped for clothes; he’d simply worn whatever I bought for myself.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” he joked.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Claude took Oren to seeThe Nutcracker, so I thought I’d do some Christmas shopping. Oren was so excited. He said Claude told him it was a ‘date’ so it had to be just the two of them, so Octavio wasn’t allowed to go.”

“I’m glad you stayed close with them.”

“They have been a godsend, especially after Kitt first left. There I was with an infant I had no idea how to take care of.”

I nodded.

“So, what are you doing? Christmas shopping?”

“No. I don’t really have anyone to shop for. I really just like looking at all the gifts for sale and feeling the excitement of the shoppers and imagining their collective delight when they exchange and open perfectly wrapped gifts…I’m sorry, that sounds pitiful, doesn’t it.”

“No,” Jackson said. “It sounds like you.”

I nodded.

“How’s Rio?” he asked me suddenly.

I shrugged. “Fine, I guess. He moved to Italy, where he appears to be growing his hair and roses beside a woman named Poppy.”

“Oh!” he said. “I’m sorry. I know he was youritboy.”

“He was,” I said. “Butyouwere the love of my life.” And with that admission, I let go of Rio fully and once and for all.

He looked at me sharply, clearly startled. For my part, I was embarrassed to have admitted so much when I didn’t intend to. Hoping to change the subject, I asked, “How about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

“No,” he said. “There have been a few guys, mostly younger. It’s hard when you bring a kid into the mix. None of them stuck. None of them were you.” Now it was his turn to look embarrassed. “The truth is,” he continued in a rush, “I don’t know who I am without you. I don’t know how tobewithout you.”

And there we were, two halves of the same tree, each leaning against air.

Jackson broke the awkward silence. “I’m actually glad I ran into you,” he said. “You’ve been on my mind a lot lately.”

“Why?”

“I never apologized to you—for hurting you, for destroying us. I’m truly sorry. You deserved better. I would never in a million years have thought I’d be the one to hurt you. In my clumsy attempt to lessen your pain, I implied that I’d stopped loving you—I hadn’t—haven’t—”