Tony agreed to meet me at the coffee shop after work, but he was late.  While I waited for him, I began to grow nervous.  I'm not sure what for.  My book wasn't holding my attention; it was more like a placemat for my thoughts than anything.  I hadn't talked to Tony in weeks, and my nonexistent attempts at communication tugged at my guilt organ, causing my stomach to start cramping.
    When I saw Tony, however, and he was beaming, a rush of relief flooded my senses, and after standing up and giving him a big hug, I felt as if nothing had changed since we'd first begun our friendship.  "Hey, stranger!" he said.
    We were tipsy on caffeine by the time we started talking about things that mattered.  I marveled at how different my relationship with Tony was in comparison to my relationship with Harvey.  Harvey and I conversed about the future or politics.  Tony and I discussed the obscene color of the mustard on his sandwich and the implications that a condiment of that shade might have on his digestive track.  Often with Tony I wished that there were an easy segway into the matters that needed to be discussed, the issues that were lining everything we were saying with a thin but prickly coating that scraped at the insides of our mouths each time we chose to bring up another meaningless topic.
    At some point I couldn't take it any longer, and I blurted, "I'm sorry."
   "For what?"
   "For not calling or texting you or trying to get in touch with you.  We haven't talked in weeks, and I feel completely responsible."
    Tony reached up and started fingering his hair.  He looked away and then back at me.  It was hard for him to look at me for some reason.  "It is what it is."
    "I'm so sorry.  But you seem so good now!  You seem so, I don't know, happy."
    He smiled.  Then he nodded.  "I met someone."
    "I figured," I said.  I couldn't stop smiling.  "Me too.  Sort of."
    "I thought you said you were leaving.  Going into teaching."
    My eyes started stinging as suddenly as if mustard gas had been secreted into the air.  I swallowed.  "Tony, I don't know what to do."