Diaries from the Unfolding

Tracing the moments that unraveled what had been a deep friendship with Kendra.

This is one chapter in the story of a friendship that ruptured in 2023. What follows is a personal account—part diary, part reflection, part letter to someone I once considered family.

Dear Kendra,

In August of 2023, I stepped back from drinking and spent some time away at Breitenbush. When I returned, things between us began to shift in ways I didn’t immediately understand.

1. A Peloton PR, and Something Changed

It started with the way you talked about Nate’s body.

When he hit an FTP of 316 watts—honestly, an incredibly impressive personal best on the Peloton—the way you spoke about him and his achievements seemed charged with a kind of attention I hadn’t seen from you before.

You were uncharacteristically and suddenly intensely enamored.

One time, right around that same period, you told me you had plans to meet him at our local bar after we finished hanging out. Then you paused and invited me along—something you’d never felt the need to do before.

Even you knew something had changed. You were trying to make it right.

I should have recognized it then. The last courtesy extended before the pretenses were dropped.

2. The Palm Springs Departure

Around that time, Tish was planning a three-week solo trip to housesit in Palm Springs.

You resisted booking travel to join her. It seemed like you really didn’t want to go at all. When you finally did book, it was only for a few days.

That should have told me something.

3. Mimicry as Affection

One thing I know about you—your love language reveals itself through mimicry.

The morning Tish left for Palm Springs, right after you dropped her at the airport, you got on the Peloton. You pushed yourself to your hardest ride yet, copying the exact back-to-back workouts he had done days before. You hit a PR, just like he had.

You were doing this workout knowing you’d see him that evening. Tish hadn’t even landed yet, and you were already preparing for your night with him.

That was September 14th. After that night, everything changed. Your demeanor. Your priorities. The way you treated me.

Something had happened between you two.

4. New Patterns, New Distance

The frequent hangouts started immediately.

You went to Hi-Top with him—a bar you had always refused to go to with me. You stopped telling me when you were seeing him, but the pattern was obvious. You’d dodge my texts for hours before, then go silent completely while you were with him.

You’d only done that before with Angie, your ex-girlfriend. When you didn’t want anyone to know.

One day I invited you to hang out. You said you needed downtime. Later I found out you’d gone to Pier Park instead—in St. Johns, where he lives.

That morning you’d texted me about a drink at Havalina named after your new favorite band, Glitterfox. Just happened to be a St. Johns bar.

By late September, it was every week. Like clockwork.

5. Drinking, Boundaries, and Red Flags

Then came the drinking stories.

You told me about trivia night at Advice Booth—how you’d been belligerently shouting out answers. No one sober does that. It’s a cardinal sin in bar trivia.

You were getting heavily intoxated one-on-one with a married man. Someone whose wife had kicked him out for an extended period because, as she’d said, “she’d had enough of his shit.” He has a history of behaving poorly.

Now, he had “free pass” nights, you said. Time away from his wife and daughter. He was choosing to spend them drinking alone with you.

Hour-long round trips to see you. Seven or eight beers. Then driving home.

You told me he’d order another round while you were in the bathroom—after you’d said you were ready to leave. OK, Bill Cosby.

And that comment he made in front of both of us: “Picking up women at bars isn’t difficult.”

I was watching it happen in real time.

6. You Gave Him the Job and the Toasts

You did go to Palm Springs eventually. Three days out of three weeks.

For years, you’d sent me snapshots of your vacation beers. Our little toasts from afar.

When you showed me photos after you got back, your voice changed when you scrolled past a beer picture. Quick and uncomfortable.

Those toasts weren’t mine anymore.

In early October, you fought to get him a contractor position at Imperial. This very uncharacteristic of you to be so combative with your boss.

After Nate had started the job, you told me, with real admiration in your voice, that he’d said if he won the lottery, he would buy the company. His big wish.

A pickup line. And it was working.

7. Distaste and Doubt

I’d seen enough. The secrecy, the flirtation, the drinking. My suspicion was growing into something harder.

I made some calls. Reached out to people who knew him.

A picture emerged: someone who backstabbed close friends and business partners. Someone callous. Someone who took what he wanted.

It tracked perfectly.

Months earlier, I’d vouched for him. Helped him get a coveted tap spot at a new establishment.

Soon after that favor, he started texting you in the evenings. Invitations to drink. You told me about one night—you were already in pajamas when he texted. Not planning to go anywhere.

You changed clothes and went anyway.

8. The Night at Mad Hannah

October 4th. Three weeks since that morning workout. You stopped by for a quick beer before meeting “work friends.”

Once before, you had said “work friends.” It meant him.

I mentioned I might bike over to Mad Hannah later—not knowing that’s exactly where you were planning to meet him one-on-one. You hesitated. Caught.

Then reluctantly invited me along.

I watched you flirt with him through six or seven beers.

You told him about starting an intensive Peloton program. Trying to impress him.

You showed him a photo on your phone—a painting of a bare-breasted woman from the house in Palm Springs. He brought up another piece from the house that you two had apparently discussed privately: one depicting a blowjob.

You’d never mentioned that artwork to me. Or that conversation.

That same night, you told him about your former boss—how you used to call him to kill spiders at the apartment you shared with your ex-girlfriend Angie. How one time, after he helped, he joked that he wanted a sex tape of you and Angie as payment for the favor.

You were sharing sexual stories with a married coworker. Wildly inappropriate.

Months earlier, you’d told me he’d invited you to share a hotel room in Seattle for a baseball game. You’d called it “clearly inappropriate” and declined.

But that night, you bragged about our camping trips. Our hotel stays. How Tish allowed you to go on trips with men.

You were using our friendship as bait. Showing him what was possible.

I wasn’t just your best friend—I was one of Tish’s too. I’d earned that trust through years of being gracious and respectful.

You were dangling me like a preview of coming attractions.

9. The Call I Regret

The week following the hangout at Mad Hannah, I called Tish.

I was intoxicated.

I told her what I had been seeing. What I was worried about.

I still believe I should have been able to bring my concerns to her. She was my close friend too. But I know it wasn’t the right way to do it.

Not like that. Not in that state.

10. Silence as Narrative Control

My fear was simple: I was being replaced.

After that call, I was never given the chance to speak with Tish in person. Never got to explain what I meant or how I meant it. You granted me one brief, 30-minute meeting. I came prepared with an apology. After that—nothing.

For over a year, you stonewalled me. The same refrain: “space and time.”

It left me with the sinking feeling that you were more focused on safeguarding your relationship with Nate than anything else. From where I stood, it felt like a way to keep control of the story. To keep me out of it.

11. What I Was Never Allowed to Say

I’ve often wondered what you told Tish after the call. I suspect you painted me in a light that made it easier to dismiss me. Cast me as unstable, or malicious, or jealous.

That saddens me. I never had the chance to clarify what I meant. Never had the chance to tell her that my concerns—however clumsily I voiced them—were real.

They were never meant to hurt her. They were coming from a genuine place of hurt.

12. What I Still Believe

Despite everything, the situation with Nate remains troubling. A married man. Someone who was once your employee. Someone you semi-risked your job for by stealing yeast.

If what I shared with Tish upset her, it would seem she should have concern around the current nature of your relationship with Nate. If she had insight into the aspects which remain out of her view.

I don’t pretend to know the full nature of your relationship with Nate. But from where I stood, it had all the hallmarks of an affair of the heart—if not more.

What unfolded between the two of you—the secrecy, the flirtation, the drinking—came at a cost. It wasn’t just a betrayal of our friendship. It was a breach of the trust I thought existed between you, Tish, and me.

13. From a Place of Hurt, Still Hoping for Clarity

I know that expressing anger, blame, or suspicion won’t bring healing.

My pain comes from feeling sidelined, replaced, and unsure of where I stood in your life. Maybe your pain came from feeling misunderstood, judged, or trapped. I can’t say for certain. Only you can.

But what I can say is this—despite everything, our friendship mattered immensely.

With care,

John