a scene.

“I wish you didn’t hate me,” she said.

“Who hates you?” I said.

“You don’t look me in the eyes anymore,” she said. “You don’t return my calls. You always have some excuse not to spend time with me.”

“Surely, there has to be some rationale that’s a little less extreme than my hating you.”

“Of course there is,” she said. “You were about to explain it to me.”

Well, shit. I’d fallen for her trap, no doubt exactly as she’d planned, and I had no idea how I was going to weasel my way out of it. I felt like I was drowning and couldn’t figure out which way was ‘up’.

“I can’t,” I said.

“Do —”

“No, don’t ask,” I said. “I know what you’re going to say. But I can’t answer your question. That’s the whole point.”

“So you’ve been avoiding me because you don’t want to answer a simple ‘yes or no’ question?”

“It’s not a simple question,” I said. “Look, what we have right now is perfect. I don’t want to change a thing. And, if I tell you whether or not I feel something more, it won’t matter how I reply. It’s going to change everything.”

She averted her gaze. “I don’t see how it would.”

“I’m not going to jeopardize our friendship,” I said, “by telling you either way. But I don’t hate you.”