That night, I lay abed thinking over my broken marriage, the men I’d loved, the men who had loved me, even my children, and reproved myself for feeling so strongly about Bryan.
On one side he was my best friend and could have been a Briana. But on the other side, he was a young gay man with a whole life to fill with friends and maybe a family.
I kept hearing his voice making that faux pas. I tried to shove it out of my thoughts and forget it, but it stuck.
We had a busy work week, and I noticed a kind of withdrawal from Bryan. It wasn’t massive, it was just breaks during the day when he went his way.
We didn’t eat lunch together, which was not unique in itself as many times we skipped lunch, or I skipped, or we forgot to stop working so there was no lunch.
On Friday, Bryan didn’t come home, he went out right from work. I hadn’t created an outing.
About ten p.m. that Friday Bryan rang me saying he’d not be back until Sunday. That he’d rung screamed he was as confused as I was.