Page 8 of Sexting My Ex’s Dad

“Exactly.”

There’s that tone that says he’s been building this argument in his head for a while. “And honestly,” Nathan continues, voice rising slightly, “maybe if you took better care of yourself we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

The words hit hard enough that I actually feel the impact in my stomach. “What does that mean?”

He flaps his hand vaguely at my body. “You know what it means.”

I feel something inside my chest collapse inward like a building losing its foundation. “Say it,” I whisper.

Nate rolls his eyes. “If you maintained yourself, maybe I wouldn’t have needed to look somewhere else.”

The room goes very still. Those words slide straight past my ears and bury themselves somewhere deeper, right into the collection of old wounds I carry around like luggage I never asked for.

My mother’s voice rises instantly in my head.

You’d be so pretty if you just lost ten pounds.

Men notice these things.

No one marries the girl who lets herself go.

Every meal monitored.

Every dessert negotiated.

Every bite framed as a moral decision.

That’s the life women are expected to live whether it’s healthy or not. I didn’t spend years dragging myself out of an eating disorder just to sign up again. I’m heavier now because at five-eight, a hundred and fifteen pounds was something teenage me was expected to maintain. I lift, I’m stronger than Nathan Jr., and food and I finally get along.

I take one slow breath, then another. “Get out,” I say quietly.

Nate scoffs. “Don’t be silly, Athena.”

“Get,” I repeat, louder now, “out!”

Lila finally scrambles out of the bed and starts gathering her clothes off the floor with shaking hands, and Nate looks at me like he can’t decide whether this is inconvenient or amusing. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“This is my apartment.”

The argument spirals quickly after that.

Voices rise.

Accusations fly.

Nate insists I’m being emotional, Lila keeps trying to speak but I cut her off every time she opens her mouth, and somewhere in the middle of it all I grab the pile of Nate’s clothes off the floor and throw them directly at his chest.

“Take them,” I snap. “Take all of it.”

Finally Nate yanks his shirt over his head and storms toward the door while Lila follows behind him, eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

“You’re going to regret this,” he says.

“Not tonight,” I reply.

The door slams hard enough to rattle the wall, and the silence that follows feels enormous. I stand there for a long time without moving.

Eventually my knees give out. I slide down the wall and land on the floor with my back pressed against the door. My phone buzzes somewhere in my coat pocket.