I’m standing in front of the driver’s side of his car. The door is wide open. I look back at the church. People are starting to trickle out. “My dad and my brother are there.” “They’ll understand,” he says with conviction. “Where to?” I ask, stunned. “My apartment.” “I don’t trust myself with you.” God, how awful am I that I admit this out loud to the brother of the man I was supposed to marry while he is being buried? Does human selfishness know any bounds?
