“It’s not just me,” she says hastily. “An open relationship would mean expanding the parameters of fidelity for us both. I know you’ve been faithful. So have I, always, but isn’t there someone you’ve…ya know, been attracted to?”

I swallow hard, not quite catching the memory I suppress on a regular basis before it rises up to torture me. Kimba Allen, all grown up and grieving at her father’s funeral two years ago. So lush leaning into me. I wasn’t prepared for the hug—hadn’t expected to feel her. The elegant black dress had caressed her full, firm curves, and I’d curled my hand reflexively at her waist. I hadn’t wanted to let go. As children we’d been close, but the thing I felt when I saw Kimba for the first time since the summer of ninth grade? It was more. Instantly more, and the kind of attraction a man feels for a woman. In just those few moments, it felt real and deep in a way I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had. By then, Aiko and I were already in counseling and things weren’t great. My strong response to Kimba warned it wouldn’t be wise to maintain contact, but I’d still started the question.

“Should we…”

Exchange numbers? Stay in touch? Hold on tight?

I didn’t ask, but she looked at me, read me, I think.

And answered the question with goodbye.

She saw my son. She saw Aiko. She may have even felt the instant connection that sprang fully born inside of me as soon as I laid eyes on her after twenty years, and she knew it was dangerous. So did I, but some reckless part of me wanted to say fuck it. Message me. Talk to me. Sit on the phone with me for hours and I’ll listen to you breathe.

Just come back into my life, Tru. I want to keep feeling this.

But I didn’t say any of that, and she said goodbye and I went home with my family.

And that was right.

But the suit I wore to that funeral carried her scent for weeks. I furtively sniffed the lapels, hungry to inhale what was left of her in the fibers.

“There’s no one in particular,” I lie. “But again, I’m not standing in your way.”

“So you’re fine with me and Chaz.” She looks down at the silk belt she rubs between her fingers. “That’s his name, Chaz. You’re fine if we—”

“An open relationship isn’t the answer.” I lift her chin, coaxing her to meet my eyes. “I want to be with someone who only wants to be with me, and it would kill me if she was with someone else. You and I want different things.”