Love the one youre with

me,' I say. 'Last night. He probably went to his sister's-'

Suzanne interrupts. 'No. He didn't go to his sister's. He went to a hotel… and called your sister.'

I blink, then stare at the red lamp shade until I see spots on the white wall above it. 'He called you?' I finally say.

She says yes, this morning from the Ritz, and then again, about thirty minutes ago. Her voice trails off, as I imagine the rest of her sentence-while you were kissing Leo.

'What did he say?' I ask, feeling torn, numb.

'He's upset, Ell. He's scared, and he wants to talk to you.' There is the smallest trace of condemnation in her voice, but mostly just worry-and a little sadness, too.

'No, he doesn't. He hasn't called me. Not once.'

'Well, he's hurt, Ell… He's really hurt… and worried.'

'He told you that?'

'Yeah. More or less.'

'What did you tell him?' I ask, unsure of what I want her answer to be.

'I told him not to worry… That you went to New York for work-not for Leo-and that he needed to trust you.'

I look down at my shoes, still damp from the rain, wondering if this same result would have happened if Andy hadn't left, hadn't left the note on the counter. Was it a foregone conclusion? Or not?

'Okay,' Suzanne says. 'I'm not saying Andy's perfect. Far from it. And you know how I feel about Margot's self-centered, controlling bullshit. And, Jesus, I still can't believe she didn't tell you about Leo trying to see you… But…'

'But what?' I ask.

'But they're your family. And you're lucky to have… a family.'

I think of our father, how reabsorbed he is in Sharon's life, children. Then I think of Vince-how he refuses to commit to my sister and what a frustrating place that must be. And, of course, I think of our mother. I always think of our mother.

'You're my family, too,' I say, feeling guilty in a way I hadn't anticipated.

'I know,' she says. 'And you're mine. But, c'mon, Ell. You know what I mean… They're a real Norman Rockwell family. And they include you in everything. They count you as one of their own. You are one of them.'

I close my eyes, thinking of Mr. Graham's toast to me on our wedding day, saying words to that effect. How Stella treats me like a daughter, and Margot treats me like her sister-even before I married Andy.

'Do you really want to give all that up?' Suzanne says, her voice maternal, soft, careful. 'Do you want to give Andy up?'

'I don't know,' I say, the reality of the situation sinking in, becoming stark, scary. And yet-I don't want to make decisions based on fear.

A minute of silence passes and then Suzanne says, 'Can I ask you a question?'

'Of course,' I say.

Suzanne pauses and then says, 'Do you love him?'

I'm not sure who she means-Andy or Leo-but either way, I tell her yes, I do.

'Then don't do this,' she says, obviously talking about Andy.

'Suzanne,' I say, glancing down the hall toward Leo. 'It's not that simple.'

'Yes, it is,' she says, cutting me off. 'See, that's the thing, Ell. It really is that simple.'

thirty-five

I hang up with Suzanne and put my head in my hands, overwhelmed by the enormity of the situation. I am way too confused to describe what I'm feeling to myself, let alone to Leo, who has just returned to the living room and is now standing over me. One thing is for sure, though-no matter what rationalization I might try to conjure in the moments ahead, there is simply no way to recover from my wake-up, gut-checking conversation with Suzanne. No way to pick up where Leo and I left off. The mood is broken, not to be salvaged. Leo obviously senses this as he sits beside me, appearing uneasy on his own couch.

'Are you okay?' he says, his forehead lined with concern, his hand reaching out to lightly touch my knee where it rests for one second before returning to his own lap.

'I don't know,' I say, grappling with Suzanne's straightforward, yet somehow still enigmatic advice. 'I don't know what I'm doing.'

Leo exhales into his cupped hands. 'This is really tough… I'm sorry.'

I look at him, interpreting his sorry, processing that it is not a contrite, forgiveness-seeking apology, but the sympathetic sort of sorry offered at the feet of misfortune, divorce, death. In other words, he knows our situation is dire-but does not regret our kiss or his own feelings. I'm not yet sure if I feel the same. It's way too soon to tell.

I nod a thank you, or at least an acknowledgment, as it occurs to me that Suzanne never really addressed Leo, or my feelings for him. I wonder why, as I blurt out a question that suddenly seems utterly beside the point. 'Do you think we would have lasted?'

Leo looks puzzled and possibly wistful, perhaps noticing my use of would rather than will. 'What do you mean?' he asks.

'You know… If we had gotten back together… would we have stayed together?'

'Forever?' he says, his tone answering the question for me. He does not believe in forever. He never has.

But I do-at least in theory. 'Yeah. Forever,' I say, thinking about marriage and kids, all the things I still want.

'Who knows?' Leo says with a faraway, philosophical look.

I think of our breakup, and then his most recent breakup, wondering if the scenarios were at all similar. I pose the question as casually as I can under the circumstances. 'Why did you and Carol call it quits?'

'I told you this morning,' he says.

'Not really,' I say, feeling nauseous.

He throws up one hand as if at a total loss, and I recall how he pretended to be at a loss about our breakup, too, when the subject came up at the diner in L.A.

'There were a lot of reasons,' he says, as I watch him start to shut down. His eyelids become heavy, his expression vacant.

'Like?'

'Like… I don't know… she was a great girl… But she just… wasn't the one,' he says.

'How do you know she wasn't the one?' I press, searching for my own answers. Some secret, mysterious litmus test for true love. A definition of soul mates.

'I just know,' he says, reaching up to touch a sideburn. 'You always know.'

'Is that why we broke up, too?' I ask, hearing a needy note in my voice.

Leo sighs and says, 'C'mon, Ellen.' He sounds weary and vaguely annoyed in a way that ushers in vivid memories-bad memories-of the past.

But I stay on course. 'Tell me,' I say. 'I need to understand.'

'Okay. Look. We've already been over all of this… I think our breakup was about timing more than anything else. We were too young.'

'We weren't that young.'