After a twenty-minute car ride, Neela stepped out into a totally different area of Paris.

The hustle and bustle of the South Asian quarter seemed a world away, in this peaceful corner of the sixth arrondissement of Paris. Neela's location was only steps away from Café Flore, where the likes of Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald had spent many a lively evening talking writing and having debates.

Neela turned onto a side street that took her away from the historical café scene. This quieter area was both serene and posh, with leafy trees lining cobblestoned streets where designer shops and chocolatiers lived in harmony.

Neela hurried around the corner and spotted the famous wine bar, her own historical setting where she'd once had a fabulous makeout.

But today this setting had nothing to do with nostalgia of French boys past.

At least not for her.

She spotted Dante sitting on the curb. He was definitely alive, but he looked to be frozen in suspended animation.

As she got closer, she could see that his eyes were completely zoned out.

She approached with caution.

"Heyyyy buddy..." she said gently.

He remained in frozen form.

"I got your text," she added. "You didn't sound so good."

"Sorry about that," he said mechanically, his voice devoid of its usual vim and vigour. "I knew you were at your important lunch, but Tiff went to London for work so...I guess I just thought you should know."

Neela studied him with genuine concern. He was a ravaged husk of a man. Even his usually volumized hair looked flat and greasy and sad.

"You did the right thing," she finally said. "No lunch or other event is more important than me being here right now; okay?"

He didn't answer, so she sat down beside him on the curb.

"I'm guessing it didn't go very well," she said gently. "The lunch with Maxime, I mean."

Today had of course been Dante's big day too. The day when he would finally nab the guy who is heart simply couldn't shake.

Dante let out a bitter laugh "Let's see, how did it go...well I don't usually sob outside of wine bars when things are going good, so yeah, you could definitely say it didn't go very well."

Neela studied his reddened eyes and the dried flecks of snot around his nostrils. It was obvious that he'd been crying all alone out in the street. She'd never seen him so hurt before and it really broke her heart to see it. Sure, he'd made his share of ridiculous remarks about her life, but he remained one of the kindest, most generous and loving people she knew.

"I'm sorry you're feeling this way," she said softly.

"It's my own fault, right? Tiff specifically told me not to go through with it. She knew it would always be a dead end."

"Oh fuck her!" she cried, before darting her eyes around and adding: "Just kidding!" She elbowed Dante. "I feel like she can always hear us, you know?" She waited for him to notice her teasing smile. When he finally noticed, he didn't smile back.

It was clear this was a dire heartbreak situation, but what could she even do to help him through this wretched feeling?

It wasn't that she didn't know the feeling; no, that definitely wasn't the problem. She'd had more than her share of heartbreak back in Toronto; those awful days when tears would overrule the body's reminders to eat food and drink plenty of fluids—and the inevitable dehydration headaches that would follow. Yeah, she remembered.

She hadn't experienced this kind of hurt since arriving in Paris, and in an emotionally intense city like this, that was probably a lucky thing. But then she remembered a different kind of hurt, like the increasingly frequent frustrations in her current relationship, as well as certain other 'missed opportunities.' Some days, she didn't know which was worse: the heartache, or that strange gnawing feeling from deep inside that told her there something was missing.

For Neela the debate was long from settled, but on this particular day and for this particular friend, this was a code-red heartbreak situation: Dante had hit rock bottom, and she needed to do something to help.

She jumped to her feet. "Are you physically able to get into a car?"

He slowly raised his head. "Physically able and emotionally motivated are two very different things."

She nodded and pulled out her phone. "I'll take that as a 'yes.'"

***

Twenty minutes later, Neela and Dante had arrived at his apartment, but the scene was very different from that balcony gossip session, when bottles of champagne had freely flowed, and plans had been made to find a mystery man.

Today the balcony may have been open, but Dante hadn't managed to even make it that far.

He was sprawled out on the floor, staring into nothingness.

Neela emerged from the kitchen and hurried over. She was armed with two water bottles: one filled with water, and one filled with fizzy yellow liquid.

She crouched down beside him and clicked open the spout of the fizzy one.

"I got the sippy cup kind to make it easier," she said, lowering the bottle towards his him.

He didn't move.

"You still need to lift your head though," she said. "Just gimme a few inches."

He wouldn't budge.

Sighing, she gently raised his head and brought his lips to the spout. It was like he was a comrade in the desert who would die if he didn't get some liquid from the life-saving canteen.

A few drops dribbled into his mouth.

"Justtt like that," she cooed. "You got it; champagne fixes everything."

He swallowed and reached for more, the first real signs of life.

A few sips later he was finally ready to talk.

"God; did it really happen?" He rubbed his eyes which seemed to open up his portal of thoughts. "I feel like Carrie Bradshaw in the first Sex and the City movie, like after Big stands her up at the wedding and she wakes up from that twenty-two-hour nap in her cruelly ironic Mexican honeymoon suite, all dehydrated and crusty and confused and makeup-free." He seemed disgusted. "It isn't right!"

Neela nodded. "I know; no one should ever have to be crusty and makeup-free." She stroked his hair. "What actually happened though?"

He turned towards her; a dramatic turn that made his grown-man fetal position complete.

"It started out fine, pretty good actually."

His eyes zoned out as he played back the pivotal moment...

On a sunny afternoon at the cozy wine bar terrace, Dante and Maxime laughed their asses off. They were halfway through a bottle of red wine and some appetizers, having themselves a hell of a time.

"I still can't believe you did that," said Maxime, each French word sounding more mesmerizing than the last.

"He deserved it!" Dante insisted.

They laughed some more.

Maxime sighed. "God; it's been a while since I had this much fun."

They shared a long look.

It was just the sort of look that Dante had been waiting for.

His opening to make a move.

Dante leaned forward.

And he would not be denied.

His lush lips made their approach.

But in a cruel twist, they wound up on the side of Maxime's chin...

Back in the apartment, Neela vicariously absorbed the crushing blow. The face turn to avoid a vulnerable kiss? Brutal.

"Wow," she said stunned.

She reached for the sippy bottle full of bubbly and shoved it into Dante's mouth.

He guzzled it down, the sad baby man with the broken heart.

"It's such bullshit," she said, her eyes glowing with an anger that grew more Hulk-like by the second. "Like how could anyone not like you?!" Her glare now sharpened on its imaginary target. "Just take the kiss, you dumb bitch."

Dante put the champagne guzzling on pause and cleared his throat.

"Apparently he's seeing someone," he stated.

"What? Pfft..." Neela rolled her eyes. "Since when?"

"Right around the time he got back in touch with me."

"So why did he even get back in touch? Just to fuck with you?" She grabbed the sippy bottle and guzzled some down. That bitch!

"I guess he thought he would keep me around as back-up, until he knew the other thing was for sure." He was approaching a danger zone now, that place where the heartbreak makes you sadder by the second. "It's a pretty smart strategy," he added, sounding totally defeated. "Diversifying your investments to manage risk..."

Guilt creeped into Neela's eyes. Is that what she was doing with Luc and this crazy search for Antonio?

"Right..." she said, keeping herself from spiraling by grabbing the other bottle. "This one's water," she said. "You have to drink some water before I give you more of the special juice, because there ain't gonna be any dehydration headaches on my watch; no sir!"

Dante complied with the mandatory water order, wiping his mouth with his sleeve when he was done.

"A part of me has always known I was the back-up," he admitted, a tinge of clarity now visible in his eyes. "I guess I just always thought: if he spends enough time with me, he'll realize that no one else could ever make him feel so alive. He even told me that a few times, how he felt so alive when he was with me." Tears began to roll down his pallid cheeks. "I just wasn't enough to make him want it forever."

Instead of wiping his tears, Neela looked directly into his watery eyes, her stare unexpectedly hardened. "But what about you?"

"Huh?" he said.

"This whole time you've been talking about if you could just prove your worth, but what did he ever do for you?" She leaned in closer. "Was he even worthy of your fucking greatness?" She paused for a second and her eyes lit up. "Don't answer that I have an idea: what if I kill him and steal the toe tag from the morgue so you can have a souvenir?"

He finally smiled, even if it was a sad one.

"I'll get back to you on that," he said. He reached for the sippy spout bottle of champagne. "Now give me my medicine and go in the kitchen to get some for yourself."

"For myself?" she said confused.

He nodded. "There's another bottle of champagne in the fridge. Go get it and let's get drunk."

She smiled. "Wow, that's quite an idea!"

He noticed her sneak a quick glance at her watch. "Don't make me drink alone, Neela."

"No of course not. I was just..." She trailed off, her gaze drifting to the window where the sun was now beginning to set. She'd left Luc all alone with her family because of an emergency. Was this still a part of the emergency?

"It's fine," he said, breaking her out of her haze. "I know you already had to ditch your plans, so if you go or have somewhere to be, it's cool." She stood up and he took it as a sign of her departure. "Just close the balcony doors before you leave; I'm not going to be getting up for a while."

"Leave?" she said smiling. "There is nowhere else I would rather be than right here getting drunk with you. I was just getting up to grab the other bottle of champagne from the kitchen."

He smiled again, and this time the smile was a little less sad and a little more real. He even sat up from his heartbroken fetal position, and that's when she knew she'd made the right decision.

Her best friend needed her, and if being there for him meant ditching Luc for a few more hours, then that's how it had to be.

She only hoped he would understand...