“Yes, actually. That was excruciating.”
“I have another idea,” he says. “Something you might find more enjoyable.”
“A bikini wax?”
George ignores my comment. “Tell me the things about Nate that bothered you—all the stuff that drove you nuts.”
One of the articles George saved suggested making a list of all the things you disliked about your ex. It seems a little petty—not that I’m above being petty.
“You’re very good at being hard on yourself, and you’re not afraid of calling out someone for being a jerk. But you don’t speak badly of Nate.”
“He’s a really decent person.”
“He broke up with his fiancée in a letter. I’d say he’s a coward.”
“Youwouldsay that.” Not that he’s wrong.
“I’m not going to pretend to have liked the guy, but there’s no way you thought he was perfect. First of all, he can’t dance for shit.”
“That’s not fair. No one dances as well as we do.”
“True. But Nate moved like he had five feet and didn’t know where to put any of them. As if you didn’t notice.”
“That’s unkind,” I say, trying not to smile.
“This is not about being kind. This is about acknowledging that your ex was imperfect. And I’ll keep going if you don’t start talking.”
He writes downNo sideburns.
“Are all your criticisms superficial?”
“I’m just working from the outside in.”
“You only met him a handful of times.”
“It was enough,” George says. “Should I continue?”
He presses the pen to the paper.
“He was a bit rigid,” I say slowly. “He was used to living on his own, sort of set in his routine.”
George has stopped writing. He’s just listening to me.
“He wouldn’t miss a morning at the gym unless I begged him to stay in bed with me.”
Sometimes I wondered if Nate liked the begging, but he never came out and said it. Sex was one area where he wasn’t an open book. And when he had a particularly strong orgasm, he let loose a gladiatorial shout of victory.
I take the page and write down simplyThe sound.
“Care to explain that one?” George asks.
“Probably best not to.” I chew on my lip, thinking. “Nate didn’t like any of my things. Most of it wasn’t worth keeping when I moved into his place, but I did bring that old lamp from my grandparents’ house.”
“The one with the tassels?”
“Yeah. And my plates.”
I’d been collecting vintage china since I was a teenager. Whenever I brought a piece home, I felt like I’d rescued it. Nothing matched, but I liked it that way. It was a little family of orphan dishes, and I gave them a forever home.
