Cecile swore on her grandmother's grave. Cecile swore on our friendship. Cecile swore in the specific, sacred, somewhat-drunken way that two women swear things to each other at 1 AM when one of them is saying something she has never said out loud. Cecile, I should note, also said something that would turn out to be relevant later. She said, "I'm so proud of you for being brave enough to tell me. And I am so proud of you for being brave enough to marry a man you can eventually tell this to." I remember that sentence specifically because I agreed with her. I did think I would tell August someday. I had always thought I would. I just had not told him yet. I was going to tell him on a beach somewhere on our honeymoon, when the wedding was over and the Catholic parents were on a plane back to Omaha and I had a month of him to myself to say it. That was the plan. That was the plan I had been holding in my head for the eleven months between getting engaged and getting married. Cecile knew that plan. Cecile was the one person in the entire world who knew there was a plan to tell him.