“Why?”

“It’s not good to drunk dial the ex and somewhere deep inside that ocean of booze, you know it.”

“I miss her so much.”

I couldn’t help it as an arrant tear ran down my face, landing on her lap.

I also cry when I’m drunk. It’s all very attractive.

“She’s not worth it.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do. Spencer, look at me,” she said with a sigh, “if she can walk away from you then she’s not worth it. It’s that simple.”

“But I’m hard to be with, right? I hold people up to impossible standards, I try to box them in…I organize their sock drawers…”

“There’s someone out there just waiting to have their sock drawer organized, ok? Someone’s waiting for you. And they’ll be happy to be boxed in as long as they’re boxed in with you, I promise.”

“Who? Where are they? Prison?”

“Prison? No, Spencer. They’re probably out buying shelves or something. I’m not saying it’s easy out there, but it’s worth it, right?”

“No.”

“It is.”

“You don’t even date so this is all really easy for you to say. Ashley Davies, sitting on her golden pedestal looking down on all us pathetic people out on our stupid dates and hoping the girl we met at Pottery Barn calls us like she said she would. I get it.”

“You ever wonder why I stopped dating?”

“I don’t wonder about you very often, actually. I’m never bored enough to let that happen.”

“You’re so sweet. Anyway, shut up and let me tell you this story,” She said, adjusting again so that I was looking up at her, “I was dating a girl right after the show went off. It was pretty serious. Like the kind of serious where you’re actually excited about Valentine’s Day, you know?”

I nodded.

“So this one night we went out to a party and I lost her. Like, I couldn’t find her anywhere…that is, until I did. In a bedroom with a guy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well…what are you gonna do, right?”

“Well there’s someone for you too, Ash. Someone who doesn’t even mind that you absolutely refuse to move your boots out of the middle of the hall or that you don’t know the meaning of personal items or that…”

“I get it. Thanks.”

“I’m serious.”

She shrugged, but she smiled a little too, moving a strand of hair out of my eyes.

“Like I said, thanks.”

“You’re welcome. But I’ve got to say, Ashley, all of this just makes me miss her more.”

“Hearing about my ex-girlfriend cheating on me makes you miss her more?”

“No, talking about…I don’t know,” I said shaking my head, “I don’t know.”

“Spencer, you have to stop avoiding her. Go to lunch with her or something. Then you’ll remember her as she really is—not as the girl who got away.”

“But what if it only makes me miss her more?”

“I can almost guarantee that it won’t.”

“Fine, Dr. Phil. I’ll try it.”

“Good.”

I yawned, looking up at her, “I’m tired.”

“Then go to bed.”

“Good idea.”

She laughed, “Wow, a compliment. You should get drunk more often.”

“Shut up. Help me.”

She lifted me up until we were both awkwardly standing and together we shuffled down the hall. Me leaning on her shoulder. Her arm wrapped around my waist. I’m sure the visual conjured up something all “Time” magazine-like. Images of wounded soldiers injured in battle, carrying each other to safety. But all I could think about was how surprisingly good she smelled.

That’s all I remember.