She turned up at my apartment in Stamford in February with four bags of groceries and a set of bed sheets for a child’s bed, and she said, “I knew, and I didn’t tell you, and I’m not going to insult you by explaining why,” and she put the bags down and left.

We are not friends now.

We are something, and it does not have a name, and I would call her at three in the morning.

Bridget and Danae, who housed us for those three nights, did not know.

Neither of them.

And I want to put on the record, because the sentence about uncomfortable looks is the one that gets quoted back to me, that Bridget was not throwing me out and Danae was not throwing me out.

Bridget’s mother-in-law really was coming on Friday.