Page 163 of A Matter of Time

“Couple weeks ago.”

I nodded. “I see.”

“And he told me it wasn’t even really a breakup since we’d basically just been dating. He never asked me for it to be exclusive or anything, I just assumed, ya know?”

“Sure.”

“So I tried one last time tonight… I just wanted to be sure before I completely moved on.”

“You wanted to make sure of what? That he didn’t want you even after he said he didn’t?”

“Yeah.”

“What the fuck for? Have a little pride, Nicky. If some guy tells you to bounce, you bounce. You do not keep going back.”

“Easy for you to say, Jory. Have you ever even been in love?”

“Have you?”

“Yeah, with you.”

“And that ended damn fast when this guy Ray stepped into the picture,” I reminded him. “You were very convincing when you said you were crazy about me, but it went away.”

“It didn’t end, it just⁠—”

“It was infatuation, so it died,” I assured him. “You’re in such a big hurry to share your life with someone that you hardly even care who it is.”

“That’s not true.”

“I think it is,” I told him, understanding finally that Nick was ready to settle down and the partner wasn’t really all that important. He needed somebody on the front of the Christmas card with him. He wasn’t picky. “You take care, Nicky.”

“Jory, please don’t⁠—”

“I’ll see ya.” I hung up. I felt sorry for him, but at the same time I knew I was no one’s door prize. When my phone rang again, I answered before I turned to head back up front.

“Jory, honey, Ray just called and⁠—”

I cut Dylan off and told her all about Chris’s coworker and my doctor. She listened a long time before she let out a deep exhale.

“It’s hilarious, right?”

As there was only laughter on the line, I got the idea that she agreed with me. I laughed right along with her. The world was actually a teeny-tiny place, and I was comic relief. I had always suspected as much.

NINETEEN

The following Friday night, Dylan and I decided to have our happy-hour drinks at a new place. It was called Molly’s Cool Dive Bar, and we were having a good time throwing darts. We had been warned once that we were going to have to stop if more of them didn’t start hitting the board. They were flying all over the place—pool tables and walls, into the drinks of other patrons. It was a bad idea, so we quit and just drank screwdrivers. It wasn’t the kind of place that served a cosmopolitan or a mojito. It was either a screwdriver or a Tom Collins for the alcohol that wasn’t a beer or a shot. Dylan dared me to take a shot of tequila with her, and so of course by the time her husband showed up, we were both very happy to see him.

“Great,” he groaned. “You’re both drunk?”

“No,” I assured him, shaking my head, trying very hard not to smile. “We’re fine. We can totally go to dinner.”

“All evidence to the contrary.” He rolled his eyes at me as he pulled his wife to her feet. “Just neither one of you sing, all right?”

“I’m a great singer,” Dylan informed him solemnly.

“No, honey, you’re really not,” he said, grabbing my bicep, tugging me off the barstool, and sliding his arm around my neck to steady me before he reached for his wife.

“But Jory can’t either, as we all found out on Wednesday when we were out with Dane.”