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a future or one filled with happiness. In time the relationship would hit its expiration date and we’d only end up hating each other all the more.
    “I really miss you, Brandon,” I managed to say, biting back tears.  
    He touched my cheek, running his thumb just above my cheekbone.
    “I didn’t come here hoping to get back together,” I said, composing myself. It was my turn to get my thoughts out on the table. “Even if you had a change of heart. You’ve done enough damage to me. I couldn’t come back from that and carry on through a sham of a relationship with you. But I obviously can’t turn my heart and feelings off. I’ll probably still love you and miss you for awhile. Probably still grasp at straws to understand why you fell out of love with me and even how that’s possible. Hell, maybe some day I’ll fall in and out of love with someone. I don’t know. But it’s going to be hard. I just came for some answers. For some closure.”
    I took a long sip of wine, finishing the glass. Right now it was so good, so comforting.
    “You’ll love again, Sophie. I will too. All in time. We’ll both move along.”
    How can you be so rational?
    “I know,” I said, although I felt bitter. “I wish we could have made it.”
    “I wish we could have, too.” He got up, walked to the kitchen, and returned with the bottle of Riesling.  
    I handed my glass over for a refill, forgetting my responsibility of driving.
    “So is it another woman?” I asked.
    His eyes widened momentarily. “No.”
    I wasn’t sure whether or not to believe him, so I asked again.
    “No, Soph.” He drank a large gulp of wine. My suspicions were rising. “That’s not it. I’m not seeing anyone right now. I don’t really want to get seriously involved again any time soon.”
    There was a long moment of extremely awkward silence fraught with hesitant reflection. Thank God there was wine.  
    At last I said, “Well, then I guess it just is what it is, huh?” My second glass had hit my head, and no wonder; it was almost empty already.
    “Want some dinner?” Brandon asked. “To help balance out that wine?”
    I laughed and filled up my wine glass, yet again. I knew better than to have more than two glasses of “anything alcohol” in any situation where I had to drive, or be on my best behavior, or appear one hundred percent professional. At a slim weight somewhere slightly south of one-thirty, I was a textbook lightweight. Or, as one of my best girlfriends, Jackie Anderson, would say, “A swizzle stick who can never meet the bottom of the bottle.”
    Jackie was just as much a lightweight as I was, appearance-wise, though a good half-foot and then some shorter. But despite her meager weight and her equally meager stature, the girl wasn’t a typical lightweight in the drinking sense. That girl knew how to party, and she loved doing it. I could always count on Jackie if a night of bar-hopping or club-hitting was on the wish list. But I could also count on her when I just wanted to sit at home in my PJs and watch a soap. Sitting there on Brandon’s sofa, I kind of wished I had some of that Jackie alcohol tolerance in me, sans the party girl edge. I was past my two-glass-max and I could feel it. But that didn’t inhibit a hearty third serving.  
    “Dinner is probably a good idea,” I said, bringing the glass to my lips. “I’m already too intoxicated to drive home. And I don’t see myself stopping. This Riesling is too good to let sit unfinished. And definitely too good for an unsophisticated palette like yours to waste on,” I half kidded. Brandon laughed.
    “I’ll get our usual,” he said, fishing his cell phone out of his pocket. “ Toni’s Pasta , their signature lasagna, yeah?”  
    I nodded in agreement before taking another long sip.
    The evening was not going as I had planned. I had imagined we’d sit, talk, I’d ask questions, he’d give me answers, and I’d smugly say, again, “Have a nice life,” and