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I put the phone back down on the counter and suddenly feel completely exhausted. It’s a bone-deep kind of fatigue, and it’s not just from the events of the day. It’s everything. The weeks I’ve been alone, the upheaval of moving, keeping all this a secret, figuring out what I want to do, how I want to do it, not knowing where I’m going, what the fuck I will do with my life in this town where I know no one...

But it’s not true that I know no one. I know my cousin. And now I know Joe.

I know Joe. And there’s something between him and me that I don’t recognize, but it fills me with warmth, and calm, and it makes me giddy, not anxious. I don’t know what it is, but I like it.

And I was able to let go with him like I never had before. I had a little bit of experience before Jake, not much, and my partners were all as young and clueless as I was. Most of what I’ve done in any romantic or sexual context was with Jake. Jake, who was supposed to love me forever.

Perhaps the worst thing about the past three weeks has been realizing that, when I think about Jake, I don’t feel sad. I feel at times angry, terrified, and deeply relieved. But I’m not angry with him. I’m angry with myself for having stayed with him when there were parts of the relationship that I knew, I knew, were not right. I’m angry with myself for valuing myself so little. I’m terrified that I would’ve just gone through with it, with the marriage, with the whole life with him if he hadn’t decided he wanted out. I’m horrified by how unaware I was of what I wanted, of what I really needed.

Then I try to make myself feel better. He and I had some good times, didn’t we? It wasn’t all bad. I wasn’t completely blind. I remember the dates, and the laughter, and the sex, and some of the trips we’ve taken. I remember him giving my brothers a hard time at Sunday football. I remember him showing up for the holidays with my parents, buying flowers for Mom on Mother’s Day. Shouldn’t I be at least a little bit sad after all this time? Maybe it will hit me later?

But what if it doesn’t hit me at all? What does that say about me, that I don’t mourn seven years together?

I feel a tightening in my stomach, a low-level churn. That’s what thinking about Jake does to me, what it’s done to me for a long time. For years. Way before we got engaged.

I thought I was excited about us. Nervous, but in a good way. But now I suspect I was always anxious around him. The man I was supposed to marry was constantly making me anxious.

I feel angry again.

I’m losing my good four-orgasm buzz. Which a man I don’t know at all gave to me as he touched me like I was the hottest thing that had ever crossed his path.

And it felt needed. Natural. Right.

And I told him I was in no place for anything. Because I’m definitely in no place for anything.

But sending a text message wouldn’t hurt, right? It’s fine if he has my phone number. I can always get another one.

Before I have a chance to talk myself out of it, or think about why I don’t want to be talked out of it, I pick up my new phone, the one where Joe is the only contact other than my cousin.

Liz: Hey there

This is a Vikings fan with whom you recently shared a pitcher of beer

Joe: I recall no such person

Liz: Let me try to jog your memory

This is the Vikings fan whom you definitely felt up under the team sweatshirt

Joe: It could still be anyone, really. I exclusively grope Vikings fans

Liz: How about this? This is the woman whom you gave multiple orgasms tonight, the last of which while you fucked her out in the open against a little blue car

Joe: Oh now I remember. Could this be Miss Liz nee Melanie, last name Little Liar?

Liz: In the flesh

Joe: And what majestic flesh it was

Liz: Jesus Joe

Joe: While I am indeed godly, just Joe is fine. And I said no lies there

You’re smoking hot

The night was amazing

And I wish you’d stayed so we could get it on again