I had just dropped Winnie off at her apartment, after a night of hanging out at a mutual friend’s place. There was little fanfare as she climbed out of my car, just the usual “Call me tomorrow.” Of course I’d call her tomorrow, I’d called her every day, or vice-versa, for the last 5 months. Winnie and I had met online one night and had good conversation, and decided to meet for drinks the next night. We’d hit if off immediately and got along like that. We’d left the bar and gone back to her apartment after a few hours of live music, beer, and billiards. At her apartment we smoked some weed, and I got acquainted with her orange tabby Frodo, and we sat around and talked and asked each other the usual questions. We made out briefly that night and the next, and while we both enjoyed each other’s kisses, there was an underlying trepidation in us both, and the kissing ended after the second night. We hung out nearly every night yet, shooting pool and drinking and dancing and going to parties and playing drunken Scrabble. We loved each other’s company and always had a blast together. She was 22, seven years my junior, tall and naturally beautiful, with the silliness and exuberance of a young girl.

Our friendship abruptly turned romantic one weekend a few months later while partying with a friend who’d moved to a town a couple hours away.