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I look to the side. “When’s the wedding?”

“Next year. Early summer. June.”

“So you’re saying I should save the date.” I grin, and Lance chuckles.

“Yeah. Maybe not,” he says.

“I guess Kim has officially won this divorce thing,” I say. I’m far from overjoyed by the news, but the truth is, my mood isn’t as gloomy as I thought it might be.

It’s not as gloomy as it would be if I hadn’t met Liz last week.

One night with her has diluted the inky darkness, where my mind often dwells when it comes to Kim.

“It’s not a competition,” Lance says. “We’re all worried about you.”

And now I’m just pissed. Nobody had better fucking pity me. “Don’t be. I’m doing great.”

Lance puts up his hands. “Okay, Joe. Okay. No offense. I hear you.”

“Well, thanks for telling me the news.” I shouldn’t be a dick to Lance—he’s not the one I divorced. “So how are things otherwise? With you, Sarah, the kids?”

He pulls back. Physically, away from the screen.

“Lance?”

“It’s ... complicated. Being married with kids is complicated.” He’s avoiding my eyes, looking really uncomfortable.

“Everyone’s healthy?”

“Yeah, yeah. The kids are great. No problems there.”

“Lance, you know we can talk about your shit if you want, right? We were friends irrespective of Kim.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I know. But, still, you know—” He shrugs. “Things don’t feel the same.”

I lean toward the screen. “No, they don’t. But maybe that’s how it goes. Maybe that’s normal,” I say. “Life goes on. People change.”

“That they do.” Lance sighs. “That they do.”

****

I do something I haven’t done in years—I pull up Kim’s Facepalm profile. She posts a lot and keeps plenty of it public, so I don’t have to be friends with her to see it.

The new guy seems decent—clean cut and handsome, with brown eyes and hair. Kim looks mostly how I remember her. She’s a pretty brunette, naturally slim, with a nice smile and curly hair. The two make a good-looking couple, probably better looking than Kim and I ever did. I was always a little too gigantic for her, and she’d have preferred me to be thinner and more classically handsome.

I feel a pang of something when I look at the pictures. I don’t think it’s jealousy, because the guy doesn’t bother me. It happens only when I look at Kim. I’ve seen her “picture face” a million times before. Like on our wedding day. Outside our first apartment. In our first house. In how happy we once were.

It’s plain old nostalgia, I realize, this pressure in my chest. Nostalgia is expected, natural. Nostalgia makes sense.

But I want to be done with it.

I hate that our marriage and its failure still knock me off balance.

When will I be done? Will I ever be done?

****

When Kim and I first separated, I saw a therapist twice a week. As I felt a little better, I went down to once a week, then every two weeks.