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Luke called after they had been seeing each other about six months and said he had some important news I just assumed it was over. But before I could get to the hows or whys he was telling me they were engaged, and asking me to be best man.
    I suspect people think I’m jealous of Luke, though I swear that’s not the case. I know that next to him I seem drab and unexciting, my mediocrity magnified by his own sheen and poise, like cheap buttons on an expensive suit. But appearances aren’t important to me, and Luke’s life is far too complicated for me ever to covet it. We are so different that I doubt we would have become friends if not thrown together by the private school we attended, whose classes were seated according to alphabetical order. It meant that Luke Stevens and Timothy Stevenson, who would never usually have moved in the same circles, became inseparable.
    A lot of Luke is about surface, but it’s a mistake to think that’s all there is. By thirteen, Luke’s face had already marked him out from the rest of us. Teachers paid him extra attention; he was regularly picked early for teams at recess, though he was no better at sports than anyone else. In tenth grade, when we started dancing lessons, it seemed as if the entire one hundred and twenty girls bused in from a nearby school had eyes only for him, a collective passion that occasionally erupted in name-calling and tears after class. Luke made the most of it—who wouldn’t? But he never relied on it. He still did his homework. He still practiced for those teams, when he probably could have gotten away without it. And because we were seated next to each other he talked to me, though I was never in the popular group, and stayed my friend even after we left school.
    Predictably, the wedding couldn’t have been lovelier. Cressida’s family has money but, more important, taste. On top of that, Cressida and Luke made a stunning couple, never more so than on that bright afternoon, when the glow coming off them was almost palpable. They were in love, but the most touching thing was how both thought they had done so well to be marrying the other. “Isn’t she just gorgeous?” Luke whispered to me as Cressida came down the aisle, as humbled as if he were the woodcutter marrying the princess. “I still can’t believe he chose me,” confided his bride later, as we danced at the reception, her voice thrilled and awed in equal measure. If I was ever jealous of Luke, it was on that day. Not because, once again, he was getting what he wanted, or because I secretly lusted after Cressida. No, what I envied was the excitement that they both radiated, the certainty that they couldn’t have done better.
    And for that reason I expected it to last. God knows, Luke had been flighty with women. But then, he could afford to be, and it was no more than you’d expect from any good-looking male in his twenties. For all his conquests, though, Luke had never before admitted love.
    In a funny way, I was kind of relieved when he told me he was getting married. It was exhausting keeping up with Luke’s dalliances. Months went by when he would see and/or sleep with five, six or seven different women. I’d find myself having drinks with him and some Monica when I’d seen him the week before with a Kelly, after bumping into a bothered Belinda, moping because he hadn’t called. Stupidly, I felt bad for those girls, and if I’m honest probably a little piqued that he invested so much time and energy in them. I had seen much more of him since he met Cressida, and I liked her a lot. She was calm, kind, dependable, and more adult than him, though a few years younger. I thought she was great: a smart choice, a good influence who would save him from AIDS or a palimony suit. I thought marriage would be the making of Luke. And I really did think that nothing he could do would ever surprise me again.

LUKE
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    I did love Cress, and I expected to be faithful to her. I wrote those notes