“I feel a lot of pressure to spit in Simon’s mouth,” I said, to change the subject. “Or at least put a finger in his butt. Do you guys do that? I feel like everyone is doing that except me.” Nobody responded, so I explained that although I’d asked him a lot of times about it, and even drunkenly offered to peg him without fully understanding what that entailed, he insisted that the normal sex we were having was fulfilling and good. I wondered aloud if he was seeing someone else who did all the ass play he secretly craved. “In general,” I said, “I just want to figure out what he’s getting from this arrangement. He’s always doing such actively thoughtful stuff, and I’m like . . . why.”
I sat back and waited for someone to speak. Emotional Lauren yawned, and I thought I saw Amirah roll her eyes. Normally this was the kind of talk that really got my friends going. When had they all become such prudes? Was there something going on with the moon?
“Do you guys think we spend too much time talking about sex and dating?” Lauren asked.
I felt my shoulders creep up in the direction of my ears. “I just think, like, what else is there?” I wanted to sound wry and knowing but could tell I’d landed somewhere between vacant and defensive. Instead of trying to fix it, I turned to Amy for help with a question about a recent episode of reality television in which two wealthy women bullied a third, who called them bad feminists and fat.
Amy got it right away. “It’s so sad when they get at each other’s throats like that,” she said. “Because at the end of the day, the management staff of that restaurant is a family.”
The remaining rounds passed calmly if quietly, and eventually we placed third, the prize for which was a waived entry fee at next week’s quiz. As the nerds who defeated us wasted their bar tab on “spiked kombucha,” I asked, somewhat desperately, what I’d missed during the early weeks of 2019. My friends gave me the headlines as I snapped the elastic of my tights against my knees and took big gulps of water and wine: Clive had “recently reengaged with leeks” and was keen to determine the Herb of Summer in advance of the weather getting warmer （he was leaning toward dill）。 Emotional Lauren was moving in with Nour; they’d so far had seven arguments about the definition of the word “credenza.” Amy had seen a financial adviser and decided to invest in weed. Lauren had finally pulled the trigger on owning a fanny pack. Amirah stayed quiet, looking at her phone and fidgeting in her chair.
I tried to think of something to share, something new that had happened to me. “The other day . . .” I started, then stopped. I had been about to tell a story, the climactic moment of which was that I’d accidentally swapped non-dairy milks with Olivia. I did not want to describe the pathetic details of my day-to-day life, and they had been responding poorly to sex and dating stories. But those were all I had. I tried another: “The other day Simon came into his room and was like, ‘Can I show you something?’ and I said sure, and then he took out this deck of cards and it dawned on me: this man is going to do a magic trick.”
This did not receive the roar of laughter and recognition I had hoped for, but I persevered, describing my mental and emotional turmoil at the idea of this handsome man I was coming to care about ruining it all by pulling the ace of spades out of my ear.
“But the twist is that the trick was really impressive,” I said. “Against all odds it made him even more attractive, something I think a magic trick has never done at any point in history. Wild, right?”
Lauren made a little noise to acknowledge that I’d finished speaking. Clive raised his eyebrows and ate a french fry. “Sounds like you’re the one getting serious,” said Lauren.
I assured her we were taking it slow—we had slept apart once already this week.
“It’s Friday,” said Amirah.
Lauren got up to go to the bathroom.
“Right!” I said brightly. “Well, better to get all this Simon talk out of the way before he gets here.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Lauren sat back down, unsmiling. I told her I’d assumed this was a more-the-merrier situation. Amirah often invited her boyfriend to things without telling us, and shouldn’t we all have the same privileges?
“Name one time I have ever, ever done that,” said Amirah, annoyed to be dragged into this. “Also, Tom is not a stranger—”
Emotional Lauren’s Incoming Confrontation alarm went off, forcing her to get involved: “I think it’ll be fun!” she said. “Amirah, you should text Tom too, if you want. Everyone’s welcome!”
Clive swooped in to assist. “I know it’s been a rough year,” he said, putting his hand on my arm. “We’re so happy that you’re happy with Simon, he sounds great.”
“He is great,” I said. “You guys are gonna love him.”
“Oh, you totally will,” Amy said supportively. “He’s a babe. Great hair.”
“You’ve met him?” Amirah asked. Eye contact pinged around the table.
“Yeah.” Amy smiled, walking further into the trap she didn’t know was there. “We went for a little walk on New Year’s, after the party!”
I had not told my friends about the party. Emotional Lauren set down her drink and stared into the bottom of it like a deep truth lurked within. Lauren sighed, and Amirah did a faint, furious laugh. Clive breathed in through his nostrils and turned to me. “I want you to keep in mind, somewhere in there, that you’re going through a big thing right now. It’s not like you can instantly parachute out of your marriage and into another relationship.”
“God, he is so wise,” Amy said. “I’m always saying I need more gay friends, and like, this is what I mean.” Clive let this slide.
“The thing is, I think maybe I can!” I said cheerily. “Jump from one thing to another, I mean. I wasn’t expecting it to be this easy, but I feel very okay. Good, even. I know you’re worried, and that’s really sweet, but you don’t have to be. I’m actually meeting up with Jon soon to finalize everything, so it’s like, pretty much totally over.” I tipped my glass toward my mouth and discovered it was empty.
“He’s talking to you again? When did that happen?” Amirah sounded pissed.
I chewed on some ice as I told her we hadn’t had a conversation-conversation, in the sense of two people talking, but that I’d made an appointment with a therapist and sent him a link, so we were going to meet for a post-breakup counseling session, at which we would say our final goodbyes and wish each other well.
There was a long pause. Finally, Emotional Lauren cleared her throat and leaned forward, pensive and serious. She looked like Oprah. “And has he said he wants to do this?”
“Basically,” I said. “When he was moving out, he suggested we see a breakup counselor together. I thought it sounded stupid, but now that I’ve had some time to think about it, I want to be a good partner—ex-partner, whatever—and help him process things however he needs. Especially since I’m moving on and stuff. Anyway, enough about me! Amirah, any cool frissons lately?”