"Tell him," I say. "I'm sure he'll forgive you."
She sighs and puts down her coffee. "I don't need him to forgive me, Liz." We both stare at the steam floating out of the cup. She scratches the label.
"He really loves you." She wraps her hands around the cup. "I know," she says.
"Then why did you-" "I felt like it at that time." "Is this payback for what he did three years ago? You have to-" "It's not." She sips. "I just felt like it at that time."
"You do love him?" And even I knew it wasn't really a question. She breathes the vapor in before taking another sip. "Then tell him," I say. "It was a one time thing, after all. It doesn't really matter."
She smiles into the contents of her cup. "If it doesn't matter, then why are you so persistent I tell him?" "Because I'm your friend." She doesn't look up; she seems far gone into the dark concoction.
"It matters, Liz. Mistakes, no matter how little, matter."
"Then tell him. And he'll forgive you because you took the risk; you told the truth even if it could mean he'll never forgive you. And if he really loves you, he will forgive you. Tell him."
She finally looks up. "I made that mistake because I knew I could. It doesn't worry me; so why should I worry him by talking about it? I'm not hurting and if, eventually, I do hurt and feel the need to share my misery... well, I still wouldn't tell him. That's my punishment - I'll suffer alone." She takes one last sip. "I don't need him to forgive me."
She puts down her cup.
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