What happened when Cleo left that morning: We were up early, eating breakfast on the couch. Our conversation was very warm. And suddenly, she said, “I don’t mean to be bold. But I always thought there was unfinished business. Between you and me.”

I could’ve kissed her right then. I just didn’t want to. That’s the other thing. I have always paid attention to my wanting, listened to its pulse, understood where it was leading me. The moment she and I shared years ago was lovely, but my wanting said something different now. I told her all of this, in so many words, and she understood.

It was so tempting. I was so lonely, Sue. But I have always paid attention to the guide of my wanting. And in the months afterward, as I second-guessed myself about Cleo, I realized that loneliness didn’t need to preclude fellowship, and, well, I had that. My friends from work, the D I got from the apps, those doofheads over at Villains who gave me high-fives and remembered me, who were always friendly, every single time.

I don’t mean to say I was happy, or that I wasn’t truly lonely, because I was. I mean to say I’d created a daily life that served as a bulwark against darkness and despair, and that’s why I wanted to tell you all of this, Sue, because I was proud of that life in a way that you in particular (and maybe only you) could appreciate.

That’s all gone now. These months have been so hard. And no one knows what happens next. Some say it’ll be like this for another year, or more, or who knows, and hearing that feels like a vast blank screen blotting my vision into nothing. It’s a true thing. But I’m not scared. A new fact about me that might truly surprise you is I’ve become good at waiting.

OBSOLUTION

When Vera was in high school, she’d awkwardly dated this quiet girl who loved Garbage. They were both fourteen. The girl wore black and sometimes yellow, like a bumblebee. She had the prettiest eyes.

After her, there was a nymphomaniac from Hood River to whom Vera lost her het virginity. Then a tall girl with black hair who inexplicably refused to hang with Vera outside school. Then a vegan during Vera’s one year down at SOU in Ashland, a girl obsessed with emo music and M.F.K. Fisher. And later, a woman in her thirties with a moon face who ran a movie theatre.

Vera was the dumper in all cases. Vera didn’t have a great rep back in the day, honestly. She fell out of love easily, and the idea of someone needing Vera had always been somewhat of a fright to her. The odd particulars of how boring childhood-divorce-crap-shrapnel had hit her, maybe? Who knew?

At the end of that first full year living in New York, Vera met this girl with freckles on New Year’s at Macri Park. They hooked up a few times, then began to date, and Vera fell for her hard. The girl was distant and not very nice—they spent most of their time fucking or arguing, and the girl dumped her that summer. Vera was crushed, but this, too, was a new experience for her (in a time of never-ending new experiences). Like to be on this side of a breakup made her heart finally learn to use a certain muscle.