"Would you please just listen?"

I frowned at the thought of more than one girl, but tried to hide my displeasure when I responded. "Fine."

"Fine. Good. So, boy A, girl A, boy in love with girl A, doesn't know how to talk to her so he teases her."

"Got it."

"Time goes by. She falls in love with boy B. Therefore, boy A became very upset with girl A."

"Why didn't boy A get upset with boy B?" This was a question that had been bothering me. I wondered, since his reveal in my room in Iowa some weeks ago, why I shouldered the brunt of his wicked behavior. Why had Garrett been exempt?

"Well, because boy A really liked boy B. Boy B was hard not to like, he was a good person, also funny, really nice. A good guy, you know? They got along really well. Anyway, boy A wasn't upset with boy B. Boy A was upset with girl A because girl A chose boy B over boy A."

"First of all, girl A didn't choose boy B over boy A. As I've pointed out previously in the bathroom of your family's restaurant, girl A didn't know boy A was even a letter."

Nico man-sighed. "Can I finish the story?"

"And secondly, this is confusing and it's sounding a lot like a math problem. Please tell me boy A doesn't leave Boston on a train traveling at sixty miles per hour."

"Very funny. You are a natural comedian, did you know that? You should quit your day job and try the stand-up circuit."

"No, I could never do what you do. I can't get up in front of people like that."

"What are you talking about? You stood up in front of our entire high school reunion and-wait, stop trying to distract me from the story. Where was I? Oh yes, boy A was very mean to girl A and did everything he could to make girl A miserable, and it worked. But it didn't make boy A happy, all it did was make him miserable too. And so he would take his frustration out, part of it, by sleeping around, going out with girls S through Z."

"Whoa. That's a lot of girls."

"And then, well, things happened and we skip forward in our story a few years. Boy A lost touch with girl A and he thought for a while that she was going to be it. That he was never going to find anyone else and that he was just going to be with girls S through Z and he knew that they were just placeholders, stand-ins for girl A . . . But then, one day, he met someone else. We'll call her girl B."

He paused, and I became aware that I was gripping my sheet, my hands were sweaty, and I couldn't speak because my throat was tight with some unknown yet terribly unpleasant feeling. I wanted to tell him to stop talking, that I didn't want to hear any more of the story, but I was paralyzed, fascinated.

I also needed a moment to process the fact that Nico had dated other people over the last eleven years.

Of course he has dated other people over the last eleven years. It's been eleven years, fruitcake!

"Boy A met girl B and fell in love with her."

I gritted my teeth. The issue wasn't so much that he'd dated other people, the issue was that Nico had dated other people and liked them. He'd loved girl B!

"How is that possible?" I blurted, my voice a pitch or two higher than usual, ripe with complaint. "How is that possible if you were still in love with me?"

"Elizabeth, it is possible to love more than one person at the same time. That is a possible thing."

I didn't want to be yelling, but I was. "Well maybe boy A wasn't ever really in love with girl A or maybe he doesn't know what love is or, maybe boy A's feelings for girl A were shallow and it isn't really love."

"No, Elizabeth. Love is not one single definable thing, it doesn't work the same way for everyone. Over these last eleven years I watched my father die of lung cancer, my niece orphaned when her parents were killed in a freak accident. Maybe boy A realized that you have to find happiness when and where you can, that falling in love isn't a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. Because, if it is a once in a lifetime thing, then he was doomed to be miserable at seventeen. Maybe boy A was tired of being miserable." He didn't sound upset. He didn't even sound defensive. But he did sound somewhat exasperated.

I meditated on what he said, what he admitted.

When Nico's father died I'd sent the family a sympathy card. He'd been a larger-than-life figure-just like Nico. He'd been funny like Nico too, and bighearted.

Of course he would move on-or try to. It was what normal people did. I'd systematically rejected him for months after I left. Of course he believed the door was closed on us, I'd all but slammed it shut in his face.

The thought of Nico going through life unloved caused me a measure of physical pain. Despite my preconceived and conflicted feelings on the matter, I almost found myself rooting for girl B.

"Back to the story. Boy A fell in love with girl B. And they were very happy, for a long time."

"How long?"

"For three years, actually."

Three years . . . "What happened?"

He sighed. Somehow I knew his eyes were closed. "She was there before he became famous. She supported him through all the trials and errors. Before he had an HBO special, before he had a show. When things started heating up, when he went from small time to big time, she couldn't deal with the attention. She didn't like having her picture taken and she didn't like the lack of privacy . . . She asked him to give it up."

I swallowed, waited for him to continue. When he didn't I prompted him with a question to which I already knew the answer. "So did he?"

"No. He didn't."

Then I asked a question to which I didn't know whether I wanted to know the answer. "And did he regret it? Picking fame over her?"

"He didn't pick the fame over her. He chose his career, his dreams over her. But, yes, for a time. Yes he did regret it for awhile. He missed her."

I felt a little sick to my stomach and realized that I was seething, I was upset. I was angry with this faceless girl B for issuing him ultimatums and leaving him when he is so obviously amazing.

What a feckless twit . . . It was at this point I realized I was truly mentally disturbed.

Regardless, I forced myself to ask the next obvious question. "So why not just give it up and go get her?"

"First of all, she is now married and lives in Long Island with her two kids and engineer husband. And, secondly, there were other reasons why they split. The fame was really the last straw. He doesn't regret his choice anymore but he has learned from it.."

"You think you would still be with her if you hadn't become famous?" I picked at a thread on my comforter and braced myself for his answer.

"No. Ultimately we wanted something different than each other. But that doesn't mean I loved her any less. It just means we weren't compatible in the long term."

"Then why did you regret picking your career over her? If it was going to end anyway."

"Because I realized it doesn't mean anything-all the fame, the money, the recognition, the accolades-it doesn't mean anything to me without family, without having someone to share it with. It's not really success."

"But if . . ." I closed my eyes and rested my cheek on the cool cotton blanket. "But if you believe there is more than one right person for you, then why not just move on to girl C?"

"Come on, Elizabeth. Finding girl C, being who I am, what I do . . ." He sighed, "I guess it's possible." I almost threw the phone, but then he continued. "But honestly, I don't really want to."

"Why not?" I held my breath.

"Because one of the reasons girl B and boy A would never have worked is because I'm-he's still in love with girl A."

I squeezed my eyes shut and felt a burst of something potently warm spread through my limbs. But then a sudden thought halted the delightful feeling. "Is he still in love with girl B?"

"No."

"But he is with girl A? Still loves her? That seems strange."

"I don't think so. You should know better than anyone how hard it is to let go of someone when you've loved them most of your life."

"But I did. I let Garrett go."

"Have you?"

Had I?

Had I really?

I waited for a stab of pain or an ache. Again, I felt only a numbness where something used to be. I answered honestly, "Yes. I have. I'll always love him, but I'm not carrying a torch for him like I used to, like I did for years. I don't think about him hourly or even daily, not any more. I don't pine for him." Like I do for you.

GAH!.

I hoped he didn't detect my unspoken words because I wasn't quite ready to admit them to myself let alone to him. I needed to spend more time in my petri dish, more time to culture in the bacteria of possibility. Or, in Star Trek Borg terms, I need a cycle in a maturation chamber.

We were silent for a moment. I was about to ask him if he believed me, but Nico surprised me by continuing his story. "So, back to boy A and girl A. I haven't told you the end of the story."

"There is an end?"

"Technically not an end, just a final statement. Boy A, although he's pretty sure girl A is for him, isn't certain that he is for her."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because, if he were for her, wouldn't she have already done something about it?"

"Maybe she needs time." Stop speaking. Stop talking right now.

"Maybe . . ." He didn't sound certain, and I was feeling borderline mortified and completely confused. I was worried any additional conversation might cause me to lead him on. I didn't want to lead him anywhere false, especially to hope.

I shifted on my bed, abruptly sat up. "Well. Thanks for telling your story and the take-home message here, I'm surmising, is that you like to tell math problems disguised as stories."

"No. The take home message is that your dad is allowed to have a girl A and a girl B. In fact, he's allowed to have a girl C, D, E, F. He's allowed to have an alphabet of women. And so are you."

"Oh, I bet you'd like it if I had an alphabet of women."

"I'm not going to lie, it's something I may warm up to on a cold night. But you know I meant that you have an entire alphabet of people for you-and not people who you can use. People out there who want to share a life with you. Maybe not what you and Garrett had, but something new. Something great. Don't give up on your alphabet." I could hear the teasing in his voice, which had grown raspy and sleepy during our long conversation.

"Don't give up on my alphabet . . ." I smiled. "I will keep that in mind."

"Life is alphabet soup, Elizabeth. Eat that soup."

We spoke again on Saturday-three times in fact. I didn't have much time to think about our discussion before we were on the phone with each other again. The calls also had the maddening effect of placing a virtually permanent, ridiculous, goofy grin on my face. I didn't even see Meg. She may have been working, she may even have talked to me at one point, but my good mood was impenetrable.

I kept meaning to bring up the mixtape, but would get sidetracked by something he said. It always felt like we never had enough time to talk. Therefore, when Nico brought it up during our Sunday lunch conversation, I was a little blindsided.

"You haven't mentioned anything about the mixtape."

"Oh!" I jumped then fidgeted in my seat. "Yes. The tape."

"Did you listen to it yet?"

"Yes. I listened . . .to it."

"Well, what did you think?"

"I think . . ." I paused to gather a breath and also to stall. If the ladies were right, and I was one-hundred-and-ten-percent positive that they were, then what was I supposed to say about the tape? What right answer could I give?

I settled for honest and benign. "I think that it is full of some really good music."

He was very quiet for a long moment then he said, "I feel like this is a huge step forward for you, to have admitted that."

I released a breath. "I never said I didn't like good music, I just said I preferred boy band music."

"Which song did you like the most-wait, actually, which songs did you not like?"

"Um . . ."

"Were there any songs that you didn't like?"

"I don't know that I didn't like them so much as . . . This is hard to talk about."

"Yeah. I thought it might be."

"Well the song, I guess, that was the most difficult to listen to, even though I recognize that it's a really good song, is the one about someone dying by Death Cab for Cutie."

"Ah, yeah. I thought that might be the one that you were going to say, I was hoping you were going to mention a different one; but, yeah. That's a really good song."

"It is."

"It actually helped me. When it came out, it helped me work through some issues."

"You use music to work through issues?"

"Don't you? Doesn't everyone? Help them feel things they're not ready to feel? Or maybe they're blind to?"

I decided to avoid the implications of his last statement in favor of the simple truth about me and music. "No. I don't use music for that."

"Right. Obviously. Because nobody is using boy bands to work through issues unless it's how to feel about copping your first feel or dealing with morning wood."

"Nico!"

"Because what issues could boy bands help you work through? Lingering questions about how to remove a bra . . . When did the boy with a premature ejaculation problem arrive to the party? I'll give you a hint, he came too early."