I checked that the number was really hers. A mutual friend had shown me the actual messages, not screenshots, and I still needed to know I wasn’t looking at somebody else’s conversation. I couldn’t quite take in that my best friend had done this.
She had invited a man from work to her house and had sexual contact with him. Her explanation was that they hadn’t gone all the way, so she didn’t consider it cheating. I was stuck on the boyfriend who, as far as I knew, hadn’t been told.
We’ve been best friends for two years. I didn’t hear about the encounter from her. She told another close friend we share, and that friend told me. That route matters to me, even after seeing the messages. I know what reached me, but I wasn’t there, and she hasn’t chosen to talk to me about it herself.
I’ve never been relaxed about cheating. When I’ve found out that other friends were unfaithful to their partners, I’ve walked away from those friendships. Being close to someone doesn’t make that easier for me to accept. Finding this out about her left me feeling sick, especially because of what had already happened in her own relationship.
She had suspected her boyfriend of cheating while he was away at college. Those suspicions had nearly wrecked the relationship more than once. Now I was hearing that she had been sexual with someone else and was drawing a line around the encounter that allowed her to say it didn’t count. The contrast was hard to get past.
I don’t know what she would say if I challenged that distinction. I do know that stopping short of intercourse doesn’t make the rest disappear for me. Her explanation leaves out the part I keep coming back to: whether her boyfriend even knows there is something for them to discuss.
When I picture myself in his position, I want to be told. If one of my boyfriend’s friends knew he had cheated, I wouldn’t want their loyalty to him to decide what I was allowed to know. That is the strongest pull toward saying something. I can understand it immediately when I put myself on the other side.
Then I remember that this information wasn’t given directly to me. Seeing the messages made it harder to dismiss, but it didn’t make me part of the encounter or of their relationship. If I tell him, I’m the person bringing him news about someone he loves, and I may have to explain exactly how I learned it. If I stay quiet, I’m keeping something from him that I would want someone to tell me.
I haven’t told him. I’m still trying to work out what belongs to me here: a decision about who I can stay friends with, or a conversation her boyfriend deserves to have even if I’m the one who starts it.
