It wasn't like I was some expert on the meaning of being supportive. Was it being loyal even against your better judgement? Or, like Olivia, was it making your displeasure known from the start, even when someone didn't want to hear it?

As he heard me approach, he quickly leaped up, grabbing a nearby loaf of bread and holding it in front of him as if struck by a sudden desire to make a sandwich.

You didn't fail. You just opted out. There's a difference.

I wondered if he ever thought of me, and hated the pang I felt when I told myself he didn't.

Like it takes so little not only to change something, but to make you forget the way it once was, as well.

I thought of all the times we'd been together, how I kept coming closer, then retreating, while he stayed right where he was. A constant in a world where few, if any, really existed.

You punched him by accident.