Yvette and Angelina's Memories

Yvette and I had been friends since Tulane in one of those bizarre melanges that never seemed to happen outside University walls. We'd been close enough to alarm her parents and revolt mine, united by her jaded wit and my cynicism. But it wasn't Yvette who had broken up Angelina and me. That had been my fault. Just the fact that they had perfectly captured the taste of one of the sweetest nights of my life left my heart aching eight ways to Sunday. How could they know? How could they get it right? Did you tell them? Of course not. And I certainly don't know what you ate. You were friends with her. She must