Saturday dawned shittily. I hadn’t slept well, and I’d done exactly zero preparation for the phenomenally posh birthday party I would have to attend, whether I went with Matthew or not.
Urgh. Matthew. What had I done?
I mean, maybe he was right. Maybe I was asking for the impossible. He’d told me about Steve. He’d trusted me with his nightmare. It wasn’t my job to fix his relationship with Jessi. It wasn’t even my business.
Back home, he’d promised to try, and I’d promised to be patient. And only one of us, really, could be said to have kept their side of the bargain.
Clue: it wasn’t me.
I’d been greedy, and pushy, and demanding. And not very kind. And Matthew had stuck with me, supported me, done so much for me, both practically and emotionally. And, in return, I’d made him feel like
