Perfect Strangers

I have to take a few breaths to clear the frog from my throat. “I know. I love you, too. You’re a good friend. Thanks for looking out for me.”

“That’s what friends are for, dummy. I’m gonna hang up now before our hormones snap into sync and we start sobbing. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Talk to you then.”

After I return the receiver to its cradle, I sit with my hand on the phone and stare out the window for a long time, trying to decide what to do.

I’m still sitting in the same position when the phone rings again. But this time when I pick up, it isn’t Kelly. It’s someone I haven’t spoken to in almost a year, who shouldn’t have this number, or even know I’m in Paris.

It’s my ex-husband, Chris.