Page 116 of The Comeback Summer

“You kept messaging me as Hannah, though,” Adam says, fidgeting with the bouquet. “Even after we met. Why?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Youweretalking to me. In real life.” He sounds upset, and I don’t blame him. Libby should have explained all of this weeks ago. I had no idea she’d continued to message with him from my profile on the app.

“I didn’t know what was going on between us,” Libby says, her voice wavering. “If it was professional or...”

Adam lifts the flowers; he looks flabbergasted. “You thought last night wasprofessional?”

Libby blanches. “I’m really sorry, this is—”

“I don’t knowwhatthis is,” he cuts in, “but maybe you could figure it out and let me know? Because I thought... never mind. I should go.”

“Wait,” Libby says, “please don’t—”

“I need time to think, to clear my head.” He turns and walks away, taking the folder and flowers with him.

I expect Libby to follow, but she crumples into her chair, her head in her hands.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” she’s whispering, over and over.

I kneel next to her, worried. “Libs?”

She looks up at me; her face is tear streaked. “I really screwed up.”

Well, yes, but I’m not going to tell her that.

“It’s going to be okay.” I have no idea if that’s true—if Adam is the kind of person who will be able to get over somethinglike this—but I figure she needs encouragement now, not honesty.

“No, it won’t,” she says, shaking her head.

“It seems like he really likes you, Libs. He brought flowers! I’m sure once he gets a chance to digest this, he’ll—”

“I slept with him last night,” she blurts.

I blink. “You... as in, you had sex?”

She nods, miserably.

“Wow.” I’m impressed; I know Libby has some hang-ups about getting naked. “How was it?”

She smacks me in the boob.

“Ow!” I yelp, twisting away. “So was it bad?”

“No! It was the opposite of bad. He’s sexy and charming and a great kisser and last night was so, so nice.” She buries her face in her hands again.

“Call him and explain what happened. If you’re honest, he’ll understand.”

She shakes her head, still not looking up. “That’s the thing, I haven’t been honest. And integrity is really important to him—but it probably wouldn’t have worked out anyway, so...”

And then she’s crying, and I put my arms around her, my heart aching. I want to say something to make it all better, but I remember how Libby helped me back in college, when Josh left. She didn’t make me talk; she didn’t force-feed advice. She just took care of me, allowed me to process my emotions at my own pace.

“Let’s head home, okay?” I say gently. “We can get takeout from Joy’s and watchPride and Prejudiceand drink rosé all night. Then in the morning, we’ll figure out what to do next.”

She glances up, her eyes red. “WhichPride and Prejudice?”

I hesitate. One option is the six-episode BBC miniserieswith grumpy Colin Firth falling in a lake; the other is the two-hour movie with grumpy Matthew MacFadyen caught in the rain. I’ve sat through each dozens of times, and I’d prefer theshorterone, obviously. But tonight isn’t about me.

---