She just blinks. “Help desk?”

I nod.

“We’re adding a hotline for sex toy… malfunctions?”

I nod. “Marketing thinks it’ll add more of a ‘wraparound’ feel to O. All your needs taken care of in one place. It’ll be a protection plan you buy when you purchase a toy. We’re hiring customer service reps as we speak.”

She groans, but manages to look elegant as she laughs her way to a feminine little snort. If I did that, I’d sound like a donkey choking on an apple core.

“And financials?”

I give her a thumbs-up.

“This job,” she whispers under her breath as she leaves my cubicle.

I scramble for my phone. The notification was from Jenny, posting a picture of a cat in a wedding dress.

No Jamey.

Around noon, I check Facebook. At the top of my news feed is a montage of four photos he just posted.

Okay, he's alive. Whew.

The first photo shows a shot glass full of clear liquid. Next is the doorway of a Cambridge body art studio called On the BrInk, then a selfie of Jamey smiling hard, and finally an obviously fresh tattoo of the words “Born This Way.” The shot is too close-up to be able to tell what part of the body bears the tat. No caption.

“I knew it!” I hiss aloud. “He was totally checking out Ryan’s tattoos. That explains so much.” But why didn’t he tell me?

Hey, I text him nervously, All good?

Nothing. No reply.

The day drags on. The evening drags on.

Until finally, around ten p.m., I glance at my phone and there's a message. I've been reading in bed, or trying to, but now I sit up so fast, my copy of Me Before You drops to the floor.

We need to talk

The four most dreaded words ever texted. My stomach drops through the floor, and my hands and feet go numb.

This makes no sense. What could we need to talk about? Nothing's wrong! Jamey and I get along perfectly! We're so happy! He probably means we need to talk about Jenny's wedding present, or which new restaurant to try Saturday night, that’s all.

The phone I am holding rings, and I jump a mile. It's Jamey. I have to swipe three times before it connects.

"Hello?"

"Hey." His voice is quiet and flat.

"Jamey, what's going on? What's wrong? Are you sick? I've been so worried! Did you get a tattoo?"

"I need to tell you something. I'm so sorry, Carrie. I just — I can't do this anymore."

"What are you talking about? I can barely hear you! Can't do what? I don't understand!"

There's a pause. "I've met someone else. It's not you, you're wonderful. You’re my best friend. It's me."

"Someone else? You've met someone else? Who? Who is she?"

"It's Kevin."

"Devin? Who is Devin? What's all that noise? Where are you?"

"It's Kevin, Carrie." He speaks very clearly and a little bit louder. "Kevin. From the map store."

"That's ridiculous, Kevin's a guy. This isn't funny, Jamey."

I think I hear a man's voice in the background.

"Carrie, listen. I'm gay. I'm gay! Kevin has taught me that I can't hide it anymore. It's been an incredible two days. For the first time in my life, I feel free. But I can't stand to hurt you. I'm sorry."

"You can't be gay! You're my boyfriend!" I think I might be shouting. It's hard for me to tell, because there is a loud buzzing in my head. It's the sound of my entire world imploding. "You're my boyfriend, and we love each other, and we might get married, and everything is perfect! You don't become gay in two days!"

"I do love you, Carrie, just… not that way. It didn't happen in two days. I've always been gay. I’ve been pretending my whole life to be something I’m not." I hear a man's muffled voice again. "I have to go now," Jamey says. "They're calling our flight. I'll call you when we get back. Try to be happy for me. I am so sorry."

"Flight? Your flight? What? Where are you going? Back from where?" I yell, but the call is ended. He's gone. I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at my silent phone.

Gay. He’s gay. Jamey can’t be gay! If he were gay, we wouldn’t have sex.

If he were gay, we — oh, God.

I don't know what to do. The world is spinning fast and mercilessly frozen at the same time.

When I don't know what to do, I always call Jamey. We’re best friends. Okay, so Jenny is my best friend, too. And Ryan is my best work friend. I have a lot of best friends.

Or maybe not so much. Jamey no longer qualifies as a “best friend.” Pretty sure dumping me by phone to run off with Kevin the Map Dude takes him out of the running.

And yet I instinctively want to call him and tell him about this, have him comfort me and make me laugh. Make me feel not alone. But he’s not there now.

Desperate, I open my contacts list and scroll down. Ryan! I press his name.

"C-Shel!" He answers, thank God. There's music in the background. My name is Carrie Shelton, and Ryan came up with the nickname shortly after we met. It’s adorable, even if I am not. "What's up, beautiful? Did you see Empire tonight?"

I open my mouth, but I can't speak.

"Carrie?"

If I speak, if I say it, it will be true. I can't.

"Carrie?" He’s worried now, his voice deepening. “Carrie, are you there? What’s wrong?”

"Gay!" I wail. "Jamey is gay!"

The phone goes silent, followed by a masculine sound I can’t quite describe.

"I know," Ryan says, nonplussed. "You didn't know?"

"No, I didn't know! What do you mean you knew?" I’m shrieking. I know I shouldn’t shriek at Ryan, but Jamey isn’t here and Ryan has a penis. I need to yell at a penis.

Logic is long gone.

It got on a plane with a guy named Kevin and flew off, along with my dignity.

"He's your boyfriend. How can you not know?"

Right. Exactly. How could I not know?

“He was my boyfriend. Now he has a boyfriend. My boyfriend has a boyfriend! And we didn’t have sex for a month and now we never will again because he’s having sex with Kevin the Map Dude and oh my God, Ryan, what am I going to do? I’m that girl. I’m the girl who was too stupid to realize she was dating a gay man. There are entire seasons of Dr. Phil devoted to people like me!” I start to hyperventilate, replaying the short phone call with Jamey over and over, etching it into my brain.