We were fighting about something; what, I don't remember, but something. We stopped, pulled over, something about forgetting your credit card at dinner. Dinner had been good, sushi, too much food, too expensive, but good, and you paid, and you left your credit card. We went back to get it, then off to the play. A musical, Green Day, a cover band, something like that, American Idiot, a tribute. We were invited by other friends, friends who, in a year, will get married, long after we break up, not too long after, but after, and then they’ll get pregnant after we’ve stopped talking, but for now they are our good friends who like going out and doing things and inviting us along. We were late because of the credit card, the having to get it because it was forgotten, sitting in the bottom of a register at a restaurant on Palmetto that I love and you hate, but you take me anyway. This is before the nurse, after you said, “So what, you happen to live here now, so what?” and before I move to California. This is just a night, one night, but I remember wanting to pull you aside and talk to you about how I was feeling, but not. I remember pulling L aside instead when we arrived. She was building a bitmoji character and she wanted me to help her figure it out, showing me different lengths of hair, shapes of faces, outfits. L complimented my dress even though it was a shirt. A bummed a smoke off of you and asked why we were late and you said the usual. You wouldn’t look at me. Now I remember what happened, why we were mad at each other. You wanted to go away for your birthday, a trip to see friends, and I wanted to plan something else for us, just us, since we had never been away on a real trip, just us. You got mad, that was it, you got mad at that. I ended up getting my way and you know what, it didn't feel good. That reminds me of something someone said at a meeting a few months ago; a woman wanted to be with her daughter in the delivery room when the baby was born and she begged her, forced her way in through guilt, and she said when she held the baby she didn't feel as good as she wanted to because it was her own idea and not someone else’s. Anyway, the play was awful, like really bad. We were embarrassed by how bad it was. During the intermission, I bought you a water bottle and you said thanks. I wanted to ask if you’d go outside with me but I didn't. L wanted me to go pee with her and I did and I told her I didn't know what I would do but I knew what would happen eventually. She said, “No, no, that won’t happen.” But it did. I remember a few weeks later drinking too much coffee and going to see a professor of mine and you weren’t answering your phone, no calls or texts, and I said to myself, “If he doesn’t answer soon, it’s over, it’s over.” I drove home so fast, racing against myself, racing so fast for no reason because you weren’t home when I got there, so I waited until you walked in and then I still said nothing. After the play, L wanted sushi so we walked to a place in the same plaza and they both ate and we didn't, I think we had dessert, sorbet, green tea and red bean, but I wasn’t hungry even though those are my favorite. Then A wanted us to sit in his car and listen to a new song and that only made things worse because we wanted to go home, not to talk or make love, but to set everything aside, throw our problems out like clothes in the laundry bin and wait for them to become clean, better. I only miss the hours between my job and you coming home, the time I had the house to myself because in the morning I left before you, and in those hours I could sleep soundly or write or read and make a snack and not have to make you one, or I’d call my mother and tell her I wasn’t sure what love is and she told me it would all be okay. Do you have any idea how many times I paced the hallways and told her I was unsure?