Between finishing my article, editing the living f**k out of it, and worrying about Ilya, I was hoping Steve would think better of inviting me to dinner.
I mean, I got why he’d done it at that moment but actually going through with it just seemed pissy. I was essentially out of his life now. He’d won. He had Matthew. I didn’t.
And so there was no need for us all to get together and pretend we were friends. Maybe he needed the reassurance of it, but he must have known how much that would hurt me. Of course, he had no reason to care about my feelings. But as much as I wasn’t his biggest fan, he’d never struck me as intentionally cruel.
Said invitation came in the form of an email that was better written and better pitched than any article I’d ever put together, so I couldn’t say no. I
