“But I can’t stop myself from fixating on the way Avi spoke to me: his reticence to speak in any detail; his upbeat passive-aggression; the gentlest of impatience I could sense from both of them—“you seem fine,” “nothing you can do but move on.” I don’t like that he knows all this stuff about how I’m feeling—it’s humiliating. I’m beginning to feel a strange resentment towards him that I know is not his fault, but it makes me not want to hang out with him any more. I don’t like that my break-up has arranged us into roles where I’m falling apart and he’s always together. I know he’s not always together, but he confides in his wife and not me. The more I talk about how sad I am, the more my dignity is compromised, the more of an imbalance appears that I’m sure, on some secret level, he must enjoy.”