Bryn: He hated my job. He hated that I loved it. That it took me away from him. He didn’t like anything that took me away from him. He was one of those people who wants to consume you. And when my mother died and I didn’t have as much time for him, that’s when he had the affair.
Logan: Holy shit. Are you serious?
Bryn: I wish I weren’t. Actually, that’s not true. I’m glad I’m not with him. I’m thrilled. I’m so happy without him. But it hurt like hell to grieve that loss at the same time as a broken heart.
Logan: A double whammy. That’s terrible.
Bryn: It was. Death, and the death of a relationship.
Logan: You deserve so much better.
Bryn: Thank you. Do you wish things were different?
Logan: I feel the same as you. I’m happy now, but I also know what it cost to get here. The doubt, the anger, the unhappiness. I was angry for a long time, like a storm cloud followed me around. I channeled it in ridiculous ways, like playing paintball aggressively. Like trying to beat the team of the guy who cheated with my ex. It was silly.
Bryn: It actually sounds kind of healthy. Maybe it was productive in its own way?
Logan: Maybe . . . or maybe it was how I dealt with the whole “was it my fault” question that plagued me.
Bryn: That’s the worst part of being cheated on. Those dark days when you wonder what you did wrong.
Logan: And the answer is nothing. It’s not your fault, and you didn’t do anything to deserve it. But you can’t get there till you go through it.
Bryn: Teagan said that to me when I lost my mom—you can’t get to the other side until you go through it. I think it applies just the same. She’s been through some hard stuff in life.
Logan: I believe that too. You don’t want the bad stuff, but it’s life. It happens, and you just have to learn from it. Learn what you want in life and learn what you don’t.
Bryn: What do you want?
A few months ago, I might not have known the answer. As I study her question, the answer is as bright and clear as my world this morning.
Logan: Honesty. Trust. Great sex. And laughter.
I pause as I stare at the last message before I hit send. Six words. A band name. A terrible band name, but a truthful wish list.
What do I want now? This list says it all. Sending it is like putting my heart on the line. But this conversation feels as if it’s the truest one I’ve ever had with a woman. It feels like everything I didn’t know I wanted two weeks ago.
Everything I want desperately now.
And it’s all wrapped up in her.
I hit send, and I wait to see how she responds.
She doesn’t make me wait long.
Bryn: Can I call you?
Logan: Of course.
Bryn: Is FaceTime okay? I mean, I did just see your face.
Logan: Go for it.
Seconds later, the phone rings. When I answer, my heart thumps. What the hell is happening to me? I’m reacting like she’s my girlfriend and I haven’t seen her in a month, because I’m ridiculously stoked to see her in her workout clothes. She wears a rose-colored sports bra, and her brown hair is pulled high in a ponytail.
“Like my hula-hoop outfit?” she asks, gesturing to her workout clothes.
“Love it. When is your class?”
“A couple hours. But I was up and showered, so I figured I’d read, or maybe visit a museum or something before I went to the class.”
That wasn’t entirely what I was hoping she wanted to do today. And that wasn’t why I thought she was calling either. But I tell myself to be patient. “That sounds fun,” I say, giving her the space she seems to still need. She hasn’t said anything since I asked if she wanted to disclose and date—so romantic. I bet this is her way of calling to let me down easy.
And I should return to the only role I should play.
Be the boss. See her occasionally at The Dating Pool.
She’s only my employee. She’s not my lover. She’s not my girlfriend. I’m letting my stupid, dormant, hungry heart make assumptions.
“So, Amy, the one who teaches hula hoop—I texted her last night to see if she knew about hula hooping for seven-year-olds. Turns out Amy is doing classes for kids at the Y. So, if Amelia ever wants to go, I highly recommend it. It includes hula hooping and jump rope tricks.”
“Amelia would love that,” I say. I love, too, that Bryn looked into the class. But I don’t want to talk about my kid. I want to talk about whether there’s an us. I feel like I’m on the edge of my seat, waiting for her answer.
She draws a deep breath then licks her lips. “But that’s not why I called.”
I sit up straighter, my muscles tense. “Why did you call?”
“Those things you said just now?”
