“You don’t know where I live, and I’m not ready for that,” she says, wagging her finger at me. “And if you don’t chill, I won’t ever be.”

If she wants to fully stop me in my tracks, she succeeds. If she wants to scare me, she does. I take the deepest, loudest breath I can. Ten minutes ago, Jourdan and I were in the most beautiful meadow covered in come and drunk off our orgasms. I’m really not sure how we got here so quickly, but I hate it. I wish I could erase these last few minutes and everything I’ve said, but I can’t, so I force myself to think about each word before I utter it.

“I don’t want to invade your privacy, I swear. I’m just…” I pause here to say the rest of this sentence in my head as many times as I can to make sure that it feels right and sounds right too. “I’m just nervous about you taking the bus so early in the morning, and…” My eyes skim down her body.

“Oh, I get it,” she says. “You don’t want me on the bus dressing like this because you want to be the only person thinking about fucking me.”

“No, that’s not it. That can’t be it. Literally,” I say, trying to get her to think about how ridiculous that sounds considering.

But Jourdan’s not listening. She brushes past me, and I follow her. I try for a while to explain, but Jourdan is great at the silent treatment. Of all the things I’ve learned about her today, this is my least favorite. No matter what I say, Jourdan looks straight ahead as if I’m not even there — like she’s wiped me from her existence.

After a while, I stop trying to explain myself and just walk beside her.

We take the main trail through the park and walk to a bus stop I didn’t even realize was there. Jourdan sits on the bench, and I sit next to her. She doesn’t scoot away or stand; she just pretends there’s no one else in the entire world but her and stares off into space, ignoring me.

I want to call Nadia. I want to ask my wife how to fix this. If anyone can explain to Jourdan that I didn’t mean any harm and that I’m not this possessive asshole she’s imagining, maybe Nadia can. But I’m worried that she can’t. What if I’m exactly who Jourdan is accusing me of being? The fear that she’s right stops me from calling Nadia.

For the next sixteen minutes, I sit next to Jourdan in complete anguished silence until her bus arrives.