Y GLUM MOOD CONTINUES on Sunday morning. I can’t shake the feeling I got when I saw that emptiness in my father’s eyes. I call my mom, and she’s subdued, as well.

“I’m not doing this to make a point,” Mom says quietly. “Harry’s good to me, Chastity. I care about him, we’re compatible. And I’m just…” She sighs, and I hear years of fatigue in that sigh. “I’m just worn out with your father. I feel like an eraser at the end of a pencil. Just worn down to nothing from years of the same thing.”

“He looked so sad, Mom,” I whisper. “He still loves you.”

“That’s not the point, sweetheart.” She’s quiet for a moment. “How are things with Ryan? Did I see him at Emo’s last night?”

“Don’t change the subject, Mom. What about Dad?”

“What do you want me to say, Chastity?” she snaps. “You don’t want to hear it, let me assure you.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“You. You close your eyes to certain things, Chastity.” Her voice is hard.

“Okay, fine. You don’t want to tell me, fine. I have some work to do, anyway.” I click End, wishing for the good old days when a person could slam down the phone.

I don’t work. I go for a long, punishing row instead. It’s humid, the bugs are out, sweat stings my eyes. Perfect. It matches my mood. When I return to my dock, I’m surprised to see Ernesto there. Shit. I forgot I’d promised him another lesson.

“Hey, Chastity!” he says. “Congratulations again on passing the test.”

“Same to you, pal,” I say, climbing out of the boat. “Sorry. I kind of forgot about you.”

“We can skip it,” he offers.

“Nah. You’re here. Let’s do it.”

For the next half hour, I coach Ernesto, who’s actually something of a natural. We talk about the cost of single sculls and where he could keep such a vessel. He’s a nice guy, Ernesto. I’ll miss seeing him every week.

“So, Chas, I got a job with Ames Ambulance Service,” he says. “They hired me two weeks ago, so long as I passed yesterday.”

“Really? That’s great.”

“What about you? Are you going to apply? They’re hiring, you know.”

I grimace. “No, I won’t apply. Even though I passed, Ernie, I’m not really good around blood and gore.”

“Fooled me,” he says.

“Fooled is the right word,” I answer.

I GO TO ANGELA’S FOR DINNER that night. Her house is half of a two-family unit, very cozy and warm. She’s made spinach-and-feta phyllo triangles and marmalade-glazed shrimp and hands me a huge, fruity drink with an umbrella and a straw in it. There’s mango in it, and grapefruit juice and something else, and it’s absolutely fabulous.

“Will you marry me?” I ask.

“Are you talking to Legolas or to me?” she quips. Indeed, I am standing right in front of her life-size cutout of the witty elf from Lord of the Rings.

“Both, I guess,” I answer. She checks the oven and then asks me to have a seat in the living room. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something,” she says.

“Sure,” I say, sucking down some more of the delicious drink.

“Be careful, there’s alcohol in that,” she warns. “Okay, well, remember when Trevor and I were kind of seeing each other?”

“Yeah,” I answer. She’s right about the alcohol. I’m already a little buzzed. “You know what? Tell me about that. Because I thought you guys would be cute together, and now he’s with this…this person. And she’s not very nice.”

Angela pauses. “Well, Trevor was—is—very nice. And very good-looking, of course.”

“Tell me about it,” I mutter, sucking down some more tropical yumminess.

“I guess there was just no real chemistry,” she says.

“What?” I bark. “How can you say that? He’s—” I clamp my mouth shut. “Most women find Trevor very chemistryish. Crap, listen to me. What’s in this drink, Ange? You trying to slip me a mickey?”

She laughs. “Vodka and triple sec, that’s all. But generous helpings of both, I admit.” She takes a phyllo triangle and bites into it. “About Trevor…See, there’s someone else.” Her cheeks go nuclear, and she toys with her ring. “I met someone, and it was just…it’s your brother, Matt.”

My eyes pop. “Matt? What? What about Matt?” She nods. “You’re interested in Matt?”

“Yes,” she admits. “Actually, we’ve been seeing each other for a couple of weeks, Chastity.”

How do I miss these things? “That’s great, Ange. Matt’s great. And secretive, apparently. Why didn’t you tell me? When did this start?”

“It was that day at the firehouse, when he was showing me some recipes, we just…clicked. And then he asked for some help about college courses, he wanted my advice, and we ended up talking for hours. But I was still kind of seeing Trevor, even though we hadn’t so much as kissed.”

“Really?” I blurt.

Angela smiles. “Yes, Chastity. Honestly, the whole time we were together, I felt like Trevor was, I don’t know. Not really interested. He’s so nice and decent and very cute and all, and we had a really nice time together, but when I met Matt, we just…we both felt it. That feeling when you just know.”

“Wow.” I sigh. My glass is, alas, empty. “So everyone’s fine and happy?”

“I think so,” she says. “I know you think the world of Trevor, and I was afraid you’d be mad.”

“No, no,” I say. “Trevor is…he’s great.” I glance at the ceiling. “And I guess he’s happy with Perfect Hayden.”

“Who’s Perfect Hayden?” Angela asks.

“His once and future fiancée, apparently.” I sit up and smile brightly. “So. What’s for dinner? I’m starving.”

On my way home later that night, I feel inexplicably lonely. Soon, I imagine, Matt will move out. Get married. Have a few kids. Angela will go from being my friend to being yet another sister-in-law, the mother of more nieces or nephews. Not that I don’t love and admire and enjoy my sisters-in-law…Crap. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Even watching Return of the King doesn’t cheer me up. I put on the Yankees game. We’re losing, ten to two, and it’s the eighth inning.

Maybe I’ll call Ryan, even though it’s late. The uncomfortable thought dawns that I’ve turned first to Aragorn, then to Derek Jeter, before calling Ryan even occurred to me. Stupid, isn’t it? Here I have a very real, very considerate boyfriend, and I’m checking out fictional characters and sports gods first.

With a vengeance, I stab in his number. “Hi,” I blurt.

“Hi, hon,” he answers. “I was just thinking of you.”

And my heart feels a little bit better.