“Chels…what’s up?” I asked, cutting the engine and hopping out of my car.

“You packed some of my clothes and stuff in your suitcase. I thought I’d let myself in and find them and be gone before you came back…you know, in case you wanted to be alone to think about your…your…your marriage,” she said, finally exploding in laughter.

“Glad to see the biggest mistake of my life is fodder for your day, Chelsea. Yes, please enjoy my hideously disheveled life while I cry.”

“It’s going to be fine.”

“Yeah? Because I just left her apartment.”

“You were at her apartment?”

Two hours later I was lying sitting on a barstool at my kitchen counter eating take-out with Chelsea, recounting every last detail of my conversation with Ashley.

“Wow, she’s pretty funny, actually,” Chelsea said, using her chopsticks to shovel vegetable chow fun into her mouth, “like you.”

“No, we’re nothing alike!”

Gross.

“Was Aiden there?”

“Indeed.”

“How did he look? Did he mention me?”

“He looked like he was made of golden plastic and no, he didn’t mention you.”

“Dammit.”

“What do you two have in common anyway? He’s a dumb model whose idea of a gift is a gym membership and you’re a thoughtful artist with a collection of African fertility masks. I don’t get it,” I said between spoonfuls of hot and sour soup.

“That’s the beauty of it, Spence. We’re both bringing something completely different to the table. I know things he doesn’t. He knows things I don’t know…”

“What, like the phone number for ‘Hooked on Phonics?’”

“Shut up! He’s interesting. I like getting to know the things that make him tick. That night at the hotel we just stayed awake for hours talking about our lives and what we want and how we…”

“Did you make plans for when you got back?”

“No, he has my number. I have his. We’ll play it by ear.”

“See, that’s bullshit! Why go through all the anxiety when you can have a plan for the next time you’ll see each other that lays out who’s supposed to call whom and where you’ll meet and what you’ll do?”

“Because that’s rigid and boring. Some of the best dates I’ve ever had have been the ones where there was no plan at all. We just walked through the city or happened upon a cool thrift store or hit up an exhibit that we saw advertised on the street. It’s all about being together and enjoying the possibilities of freedom.”

“Wow, thanks Kerouac. That was really something.”

She sighed at me—as usual—and smiled, “One day you’ll get it. You’ll learn to appreciate what it feels like to be out of control…to be out of your comfort zone where anything can happen.”

“Oh yeah? I’m not sure if you recall, Chelsea, but I’m married! So been there, done that, going to court.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe you should give it a shot.”

“I’d rather be shot.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“But obviously this whole control thing is working out for you, Spence, because you can still see the skid marks Carmen left on your precious imported tile.”

Say what?

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you probably scared the poor girl with all of your pie charts and Power Points about your wedding. She probably could see a glimpse of what a life with you would be like and didn’t like what she saw so she ran.”

“Nice. Way to kick me while I’m down.”

“It’s my job as your best friend to let you know when you’re fucking up your life. And I happen to take that job pretty seriously.”

“Carmen left because she wasn’t ready for a commitment.”

“Carmen left because with you commitment means boredom.”

“I’m not boring.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Hey, I can have fun, ok? I can be exciting!”

“I’ll call you this week about hanging out,” she said, grabbing her purse and heading towards the door.

Since when did it become so cool to walk out on me while I was trying to make a point?

“Fine, call me,” I yelled from my stool, “I’ll have my secretary let you know when I’m free.”

I could hear her trademark sigh before the door slammed.