The Ex Talk

“I’m serious.” His fingers weave through my hair, and I realize with a tightening of my heart that he’s softly untangling it. “You were so sure of yourself, spoke the language of radio so fluently, made it seem like I was an idiot for not getting it.”

“Sorry about that,” I say, cringing.

“I was an idiot, though,” he says. “There was plenty I didn’t know, and yet I came in with an ego just because I had some advanced degree. And besides, you’re keeping a ten-pound dog alive. I’d say that’s some measure of success. I barely remember to water my plants, and they only need to be watered once a week.”

“Seven pounds. He has big dog energy, though.”

He just laughs and holds me tighter, his fingers massaging my scalp. It’s cruel how good it feels—because of course it’s fleeting. I don’t know our expiration date, but sometime soon, he will no longer be mine. He’s barely mine now.

“I thought I had things figured out, too,” he says. “Grad school, the long-term girlfriend. I thought we’d move somewhere together, that she’d be in med school and I’d be doing some noble reporting, bringing down an evil corporation, and I’d propose and we’d have the big expensive wedding.”

“Do you wish you had that?” I ask.

He hesitates only a moment before responding. “No. I don’t. For the first few months afterward, yes, absolutely. But it shaped me. I don’t know if I’d have finished growing up without it, without knowing that kind of heartbreak. And now it’s just something I carry with me, the same way you carry your dad.”

I reach up a hand to stroke his cheek. The stubble is back—I missed it. He doesn’t have all the answers because no one could, but at least he makes everything feel lighter.

I was convinced casual would be safe because he’s so unlike anyone I dated in the past, guys who seemed to have their lives figured out. It’s absurd that this guy who is supposed to be my ex could have been a great boyfriend. I thought I liked the danger of being with him, this little secret we’ve been keeping from the office for two weeks, but I might like this more.

I need to stop thinking like that.

“I had lunch with an old friend today, this guy Eddie,” Dominic says suddenly. “We were the only two Korean kids in our sixth-grade class, and I thought that bonded us forever, but we lost touch after high school. He’s working at some ultra-hip startup and will probably be a millionaire as soon as they get bought. He just broke up with his girlfriend, and he needed to talk to someone, too. And it was great. We might even do it again.”

“You beat me. I’ve been meaning to ask Ruthie if she wants to grab drinks after work sometime, but I guess I’ve had . . . other things on my mind.”

He nods, then kisses me, and I manage to yawn right in the middle of it.

“I’m sorry,” I say, covering my mouth. “I promise, making out with you isn’t boring.” I check the time on my phone—almost midnight. I didn’t realize we’d been talking for that long.

He gestures toward the door. “Should I . . . ?”

“No,” I say, aware I’d be breaking the rules of our arrangement but not caring. “I’d hate for you to drive back this late. Maybe you could . . . stay the night?”

“You’re sure?” The weight of his gaze pins me to the couch.

“You may have to fight Steve for a spot on the bed, but yes. If you want to.”

“I’d like that,” he says. Apparently he doesn’t care, either, that we said no sleepovers.

I have Orcas flashbacks as I hand him a spare toothbrush. Nothing I own will fit his broad frame, so he folds his clothes neatly before placing them on top of my dresser and gets in bed next to me in just his boxers.

“I’m really tired,” I say, turning to face him. The wearines

s drags me down. Maybe I really am getting old. “It’s okay if you want to leave.”

“You think I’m going to leave because we’re not having sex tonight?”

“Well . . . yeah.”

He looks disturbed by this. “We could be listening to Kent’s old highlight reels, and I’d still want to be here with you,” he says. “I’m here because of you.”

But the worries pound against the walls of my brain. Now that we’ve done the casual thing, he probably wants to explore some more. It makes me a little ill, the idea of Dominic exploring other women.

I think back to what Ameena said, about clinging to my job and my comforts so nothing has to change. That’s not true. At this point, I feel absolutely desperate for change. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have adopted Steve or started hosting or hooking up with Dominic. Keeping this casual—I’m protecting the show, yes, but more than that, I’m protecting myself.

“This might sound ridiculous, but . . . do you want to meet my family?” Dominic asks into the almost dark. My bedside lamp is still on, and I like the way the shadows hang on his face.

“What?”