I pose the question to our little grief group’s message thread before laughing over the meme that Viv sent in response to yet another pair of socks Marin is knitting.
As I hit send, Frank groans beside me, curling his old-man body into the couch like he’s been doing this his entire life. I stroke his wiry fur absently, already used to the way he sighs like an overworked union rep every time I move.
Viv replies first, as she always does, with her full chest:
Viv: Obviously, yes. Romantic, messy, hot love. I didn’t spend my twenties figuring myself out to shrivel into some tragic cautionary tale. We’re not corpses, Birdie. We’re widows. Huge difference.
Marin: Not sure. I think I used it all up. Or never even got it in the first place. My cat cuddles with me consistently. That’s more than he did.
Viv: Marin, that’s not right. Also, don’t try to justify owning eight cats.
Marin: Seven. And they’re judgmental, which feels familiar.
Viv: You need a vibrator.
Marin: I knit. That’s enough repetitive motion for one woman.
I laugh, in that weird bark-sigh way that still surprises me. Then Viv, relentless as always, circles back.
Viv: Speaking of love… how’d things go with your mailman?
Me: There’s nothing going on with the mailman. He’s Owen’s old college roommate and ex-best friend. We were friends in college and remained friends after that.
Viv: Details. Now.
Marin: We need a visual.
Me: Tall. Dark hair, blue eyes. Built like someone who splits firewood for therapy, but still somehow reads books with tiny print. I had the biggest crush on him before I met Owen. But meeting Owen was like finding a missing piece of my soul. I never looked back, never bothered to ask if Noah felt the same. Didn’t want to know the answer. We were good as friends. Now Noah’s been our mailman for years. Always kind of there. I never really noticed.
Marin: And now you do??
Viv:Oh she notices.
Me: No. I don’t. It’s not lust or love or anything in between. It’s perimenopause. Fluctuating estrogen and the emotional side effects of too many Doritos and running endorphins.
Viv: Maybe. Or maybe it’s being human. You can miss someone and still want something. Or is it an urge that needs to be tended to? You know, you can have grief and urges. They’re not mutually exclusive.
Marin: Oh my God.
Viv: I’m just saying. You’re alive. You’re allowed to want someone to admire your new flannel pajamas besides us.
Me: I knew I shouldn’t have sent you two that picture!
Viv: You need to read a spicy book. Reignite the flame of love for your own body and its amazing potential. Get reacquainted with yourself.
Marin: Viv, you’re going full-on granola-crunching hippie enthusiast on us.
Viv: I’m trying to save all of your yonis. I’m sending you a link. You need to go on Reddit. There’s a thread called r/RomanceBooks. Trust me. It’s steamy and enlightening.
Before I can object, the link lands in our message thread, and after washing the dishes, reorganizing my spice drawer, and color coordinating my sock drawer, my curiosity wins.
I scroll, skimming past a thread about morally gray vampire boyfriends, alien anatomies, and a post about girth that makes my face heat to a thousand degrees. Then I see something that I wasn’t expecting to find there.
Click.
Posted by: GinnyHotFlash1945
Title: Romance Checklists: The Love Reboot for Whenever You’ve Stopped Waxing
