Her text wasn't a statement, but a pointed question meant to dig into my side until I responded with something socially acceptable but honest, too.
I should have ignored the missive entirely. Providing any response was opening a door, but my hand turned the knob against its' will.
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"Christ, you're so full of shit. You want to act like you don't know what I'm talking about,fine. But Brent saw you at lunch the other day and you should be lucky he called me and not your husband."
If I had any self preservation instincts, I would explain myself. I would arrange drinks after work and let the dirty secrets flow with the overpriced red of her choice.
"Tell Brent to call me about my lunch choices so as not to inconvenience you in the future."
But my instincts for self preservation have always been undervalued. Much like my friendships.