I unfolded the paper. I had written four paragraphs on it. One for each of them, in order, including Ben. I said, "Jake. You first." Jake leaned forward. I said, "Two years ago, on the ski trip, my wife told me something she had not told me before. She said at Sam's wedding, three years earlier, at the reception, you cornered her in the hallway outside the bathroom, and you told her she was, quote, 'wasted on me,' and you asked her if she had ever thought about what it would be like with someone who 'knew how to appreciate a woman.' She said she laughed it off because you were drunk and she didn't want to ruin the wedding.

She told me two years later because she said she had been sitting with it and she couldn't sit with it anymore. Jake, I have been at six events with you since I found out about this. I have watched you hug her. I have watched you joke with her. I have watched you look at her in ways, now that I am paying attention, that are not the way a man who respects his friend's wife looks at her. And I have not known what to do about it, and so I have done nothing. But I am telling you now — I cannot be your friend until you apologize to her and explain what you were thinking."