“were you in love with him?” “yes,” i say, simply. james and i put each other through the kind of reckless passions gwendolyn once talked about, joy and anger and desire and despair. after all that, was it really so strange? i am no longer baffled or amazed or embarrassed by it. “yes, i was.” it’s not the whole truth. the whole truth is, i’m in love with him still.