The house is so empty. Jonathan's in California. Sam's in New Mexico. And Angela is on "a business trip."

I know it's my own fault, I drove them all away. I'm lucky any of them talk to me anymore.

OK, I'm being maudlin. It's not like they're not coming back. I need to just see this as an opportunity, to get some time alone and think about life. But I don't want to think about my life anymore.

I know, I'll use this as an opportunity to clean the house from bottom to top, a nice surprise for when they get back. I can just picture Angela's face—

No, don't think about her face in her office, the way she was trying to hold back tears, tears that I caused. And I couldn't take her in my arms, make it all better. I've never hated myself more than I did that day, the day after That Night.

"Dad, how could you do this to Angela?"

"I thought Mom was special to you, but I guess I was wrong."

That killed me, too, when the kids found out. No, they don't know the details. Mona swore she didn't tell them that. I don't think they know that I went to bed with Kathleen the first night. But they do know I'm seeing her. I think of when they were small, so small I could carry them in my arms. My babies! Both of them. Now they're two teens with their own lives and opinions, but this still hurts them. I betrayed them, too. I betrayed the family.

Mona's the only one who's been at all sympathetic. (Even Ernie the water man just shakes his head.) But Mona doesn't understand what it was about. She thinks you can have sex and then just walk away from the person. I used to think that, too, sometimes, but now I see that it isn't always that easy.

"How could you let this happen?" That's my question, and I've asked it a lot in the past couple months.

It wasn't like I set out to "get lucky" that night. I really did go to that motel intending to study for the Art final. (I got an A, but I didn't feel much like celebrating.) And it wasn't like it was a "study date." There were five of us. But the other three got tired and left. So it was just me and Kathleen.

It wasn't like I had any feelings for her before That Night. Yeah, she was pretty, but mostly I thought she was annoying. But we connected that night, more than I expected. And you know, in the days before Angela (and grown-up Ingrid), I didn't really need much connection with a woman to consider going to bed with her. Hell, look at Professor Morrell, who came to the house with some flimsy excuse, and I would've gone out with her, probably gone to bed with her, if I hadn't objected to the way she talked about Angela exposing herself to me.

I didn't know then how much Angela would expose to me, and I don't just mean her body. She made herself really vulnerable to me, shared so much of herself, including her weaknesses. And instead of honoring that, protecting her, I stabbed her in the back.

So, Kathleen, yeah. What was I thinking? That Night, to be honest, I was doing my best not to think. I just wanted to separate that part of myself from what I have with Angela. Like when I'm Anthony for Ingrid. Every time my thoughts drifted towards Angela, I'd tell myself, This has nothing to do with her. It's just one night.

But there were some obvious differences. For one thing, Anthony & Ingrid were always a part of me and Angela. When Anthony was inside Ingrid, I was inside Angela. We could role-play all we wanted, but we always knew that. But Kathleen was a completely different woman.

And for another, I didn't exactly start from page one with Ingrid. We had a past, even if it was just one kiss. And when I slept with Tanya and then Frankie, they were part of my post-first-kiss-pre-marriage past. Kathleen was an acquaintance at best.

Did I think about consequences? Did I wonder what this might mean to Kathleen? No, I didn't. It wasn't like when I got involved with Ingrid, where I worried what it would mean in relation to the rest of my life. I guess I thought it was just sex for Kathleen, too. But she snuggled me in her sleep, and I began to feel the full weight of what I'd done.

But we didn't talk about it. Not even in the morning. I can still see her smiling up at me from the bed. "Good morning, Tony." And then a frown as she saw I was getting dressed. "Do you have to rush off?"

"Yeah, I've got to make breakfast for everyone."

"The perils of dating a housekeeper," she joked.

"Uh, yeah." Were we dating now? I didn't know. But I didn't stick around to find out. I just kissed her goodbye and thanked her. Then I dashed out as fast as I could carrying the slide projector.

I crept home as early as I could, just in time to get hit by the paperboy. I guess that was appropriate, because I was going to have to blindside the family with bad news. Or could I just say nothing, just pretend I'd fallen asleep in the motel, alone, after everyone else called it a night?

But Mona saw through me. She read the guilt in my eyes. And she discouraged me from telling Angela. But how could I keep this from Angela? How would I feel when the next anniversary rolled around, in two months?

So I decided to tell her, but she wasn't home. And then later she invited the study group over, to make up for kicking us all out the night before. Sweet, sweet Angela. Standing there telling me I was nice, and then Kathleen chimed in.

I couldn't do this, but I had to. Angela asked to speak to me in the kitchen. She guessed what had happened. She made excuses for me, but there are no excuses. I think she could've forgiven, overlooked, a one-night stand, but I wasn't sure this was one. Had I led Kathleen on emotionally? After all, I didn't intend to make Frankie propose to me. It just happened.

Why is it so easy to get involved with any woman but Angela? Even the times with Ingrid are relatively easy. What holds me back, even after all this time?

Maybe I was looking for an excuse. Instead of saying, "I can't be with you because a) you're my boss, b) we come from different worlds, c) I don't want to hurt the kids, d) I don't want to lose what we have," I gave myself option e: "I'm with someone else."

But was I with someone else? Did I have to be with Kathleen? Could I still back out, explain that I was sorry but, nice as that night was, I have feelings for someone else? I wouldn't have to go into the whole complicated Ingrid situation. It was still early enough that I could've walked away without hurting Kathleen too much. Yes, I would still have had to salvage my relationship with Angela, prove myself to her.

But when I went to talk to her later, she seemed to be pushing me away. I couldn't blame her. She had to protect herself, since I hadn't. It would take a long time to win back her trust. But then she started talking about "our journey" and how maybe we should explore our options, see other people.

And Anthony was screaming in my head, "NOOOO!" He didn't want to give up Ingrid. After all, he didn't go to bed with Kathleen, and he never would. I think Ingrid claimed him when she gave him his first kiss, that piece of me that no one knew. (God, probably not even Marie!) Having sex sealed the deal, and coming inside her without condoms made me see that Anthony was Ingrid's forever.

Except now he's not. Because I couldn't face it. It got to be too much, that division. Maybe things would be less complicated with Kathleen.

But I couldn't let go of Angela either. Yes, I was still her friend, but it wasn't like before. And I know how hypocritical it looks to her and everyone, but it kills me to see her date other men. So far no one, not even perfect Christopher, has taken her away from me, but it's only a matter of time. And this time I can't climb to her window and try to keep her from accepting a proposal. I've lost that right, even as a friend.

"What are you doing?" Mona asks, startling me. I was so lost in my thoughts, I didn't even hear her come in.

"Cleaning. That's what housekeepers do."
"Tony, this place is spotless, as always. You mean to tell me you've got an empty house all to yourself, and you're not going to invite your little playmate over?"

"Of course not!" Even when I had my one-night stand with Trish, I didn't fool around in the house. It's an unofficial rule: Angela and I don't fool around with anyone, including each other, in our home.

"Tony, the children aren't around to be corrupted by your example."

"Yeah, well, I don't think Angela wants me to have people over."

"I see. So why don't you go to your ladyfriend's apartment?"

"She's taking summer classes." She is, although I doubt she'd mind if I spent the weekend. It's not like I need to take care of anyone here right now. Well, the house needs me.

"Then, since you're a free man, why don't you go to Brooklyn or on a camping trip?"

I'm about to say I'm not that free, when I realize what she just said. "Um, a camping trip?"

"Yes, don't you usually take a little weekend for yourself when Angela has her August business trips? I know you couldn't last year because of Jamaica."

"Well, uh, yeah." I need to proceed cautiously, in case I'm wrong and Mona doesn't know. "Sometimes."

"Every time, Tony. Well, for three summers in a row. I don't count the first one, in the motel near your old summer camps, since I'm assuming that was unplanned."

I'm so stunned and speechless, all I can do is sink onto the couch, unfluffing the pillows I just fluffed.

She takes a chair and says, "OK, Micelli, it's time to cut the crap."

I stare at her. "Crap?"
"I thought you and Angela were crazy having your little annual weekends and pretending the rest of the year you were 'just good friends,' but I went along with it. You both seemed to thrive on it, and I thought Well, it's better than nothing. But then it started to get out of control. You didn't get your tryst last summer and it seemed to throw everything out of whack. And, yes, I know you necked with Angela in Jamaica—the kids told me—but obviously that wasn't enough, so you made up some phony baseball convention in North Carolina."

"South. And it wasn't phony!"

"Tony, I'm the last person you can lie to, and you know it."
"Why, why didn't you say something?"
"Three reasons: one, I didn't know for sure, I just suspected; two, I didn't want to complicate an already very complicated situation; and, three, if you were going to pretend you and Angela were platonic, well, so was I."

"We are platonic!"

Now she stares at me. "You're serious, aren't you? Then what have you doing at your little rendezvous, playing gin rummy?"

I sigh. I'm going to have to tell her the truth. Well, as much of it as I told that priest in Charleston. "Yeah, the first time was unplanned. We were just trying to get in out of the rain. But I found out she was Ingrid."
"Ingrid?"

"The girl whose name I carved into Make-Out Rock."

"Well, well, well. Little Angela and her secret identity!"

"Yeah. She finally told me that night. And, uh."
"What?" she asks eagerly, the Mona who loves juicy gossip.

"Well, we decided to pretend we weren't exactly us. We were Anthony and Ingrid."
"I see. Well, I think I see."

"You see, we didn't want to ruin what was between us. But we had feelings for each other and this was a way to act on them. And it kept going. And going."
"So what you're telling me is that Ingrid is waiting for you and you're going to stand her up?"
"Mona, I can't go!"

"Why the hell not?"

"I'm seeing Kathleen now."

"And Kathleen means more to you than Ingrid does?"
"Well, no. But I can't just show up and pretend nothing has changed."

"Why not? You said this was a separate thing."
"Mona, I hurt Angela. I know you think I didn't betray her, but that's how it feels. Even if I weren't seeing Kathleen, I couldn't just waltz in like I hadn't hurt Angela."
"Then get your butt in gear and go drive up there for some make-up sex!"

"Mona, I don't even know where 'there' is. We didn't always go to the same place."

"Well, I'm guessing she's not in Charleston."

"Probably not."

"Then you need to go to every other trysting place you've had until you find her. I recommend taking along a bouquet of pink roses and a can of Cool Whip."

I shake my head, although she almost makes me laugh.

"Tony, it's clear that she's willing to forgive you. She wouldn't have taken this 'business trip' if she weren't."

"Yeah, but, Mone, I'm not ready to forgive myself."

"How do you think this is going to make Angela feel?"

"What do you mean?"

"Angela has more self-confidence than she used to, thanks to you. But you've recently shaken that confidence. She's going to feel even more rejected if you don't go."

"I know, but I just can't."

She gets back on her feet. "Well, maybe next year."

"Yeah, maybe," I say quietly, although I can't see the situation improving in a year. Not enough anyway.

After she leaves, I go back to cleaning. But she's right, there isn't much to do.

In my room, I come across a postcard I got at Jonathan's camp, five years ago. It's still blank. I remember later joking with Angela about sending her a postcard from my camping trip with my buddy. Even though I'm the one who's here and she's the one who's away, maybe it's time to send her a message.

I think of writing a poem, but even Brian Thomas couldn't capture all my mixed emotions. Then I draw inspiration from Allan Sherman. After a few rough drafts, I write,

"Hello Angie, Hello Ingrid,

Kissed you one night, and it lingrid.

Wish I was there, to be with ya

But instead I'll have to just miss ya and myth ya."

Then I slip that under Angela's bedroom door, for her to find when she gets home.