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she added. “Something you’re not telling me. What is it? Something about this Bobby guy? Who, for the record, sexually assaulted you.”
    “It wasn’t like that,” I said. “I mean, he shouldn’t have done what he did -- but I didn’t exactly put up a fight either. But…”
    “Go on. Out with it.”
    I dragged my face across my palms and took a deep breath. While I’d revealed what Bobby had done to a group of close friends over the years, no one knew the souvenirs Bobby had kept for himself after we’d finally parted ways. No doubt, he still had them in his possession. I was sure of it.
    “It wasn’t just sex between Bobby and I. He took pictures. Video. Of the two of us… together.”
    “Oh, God.” Bianca closed her eyes and shuddered. It was just the reaction I’d been afraid of: anger, disgust, then nothing but a sea of pity.
    Poor little pretty boy , she must have thought. How could he have done this to you?
    I didn’t need pity. I just needed someone who would listen.
    “Please, don’t do that,” I said. “It happened a long time ago. I’m dealing with it. I’ve been dealing with it for years now.”
    “And would you say you’ve resolved all of your inner demons?”
    I shrugged. “No one’s perfect.”
    Bianca leaned in, kissed my forehead. It wasn’t a romantic gesture. Rather, her kiss felt as if she was apologizing somehow. But for what? My past? Any perceived injustice I’d experienced as a teenager?
    “Thanks,” I said. “So, what are you getting up to?”
    “I have some friends I’d like to visit here in the city. And you?”
    “Work tomorrow,” I said, sounding utterly defeated. “But it’s good. It’ll give me some time to think about something other than my adolescence.”
    “We should get together before I leave,” Bianca added. “Assuming you don’t have any other plans, of course. Do you go away for the holidays?”
    “I’ll see my folks Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Other than that, I typically stay in the city.”
    “I’ll be back in New Orleans on the twenty-second,” Bianca said. “But I do love my time here in New York. And seeing you.”
    “The feeling’s mutual.” I held her face in my hand, kissed her forehead, cheeks, lips. “But for right now? Let’s just sit back and enjoy the peace.”
    Moments after I made that suggestion, a family of six -- two parents, four rowdy children -- entered the pool and shattered any semblance of tranquility. Bianca and I turned to each other and laughed.
    “Just think, Jesse. That poor, exhausted father could have been you if things had turned out differently.”
    True, the father did look exhausted. But oddly enough, he also looked happy.

Chapter 8

 
 
 
    Whoever said drinking alone was a sign of depression had obviously never been to a wine bar.
    TriBeCa had no shortage of watering holes, but Terroir had always been one of my favorites. The low lighting and exposed brick walls gave the space a modern, almost industrial feel. Patrons sat atop the wooden barstools and long black tables¸ sipping wine and losing themselves in conversation.  
    Others, like me, were lost in a sea of work.
    The waiter brought me a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon and left me in peace. I reached into my messenger bag, took out my iPad and accompanying keyboard. Within minutes, I was summarizing the weekend’s events: beginning with my reunion with Vanessa and ending with the rooftop kiss with Bianca. It was my own version of therapy, really. There weren’t that many people I could confide in.
    To date, I had seventy-thousand words compiled into an ongoing diary.
    It would have been a perfect way to end a rather eventful weekend, assuming my mother hadn’t decided to call me in the middle of a bar.
    “Hi, mom,” I said, sounding like a complete tool. “How are you?”
    “It’s noisy! Where are you?”
    “I’m at a wine bar.”
    “A what?”
    “A wine bar,” I said, ducking my head. “You know, where they serve