You’re not a kid anymore. You have the right to choose your own life. You can start again. If you want a cat, all you have to do is choose a life in which you can have a cat. It’s simple. It’s your right.
Nodding, I take my hot mug full of coffee and carry it back to our bedroom. Placing it on the sink in the adjoining bathroom, I set about getting ready for the day. You follow me in, plop down on the bed, and play with your phone as I put on my makeup. I ask how your day was yesterday. You mention that your original plans were canceled, so instead you circled back and had coffee with Sarah. Sarah, I repeat silently to myself. I have never heard you mention her before. Who. THE FUCK. Is Sarah?!
“Have I met Sarah?” I ask casually, as I swipe blush onto the apples of my cheeks.
“No,” you reply. “I don’t think so? She’s a girl from work.”
“Ah.” I catch my own eyes in the mirror for just a beat. Just a split second. Don’t, I warn myself. “Tell me about her.” I listen as you ramble off her duties at work: she works in PR, she went to a big annual gala with all the other PR girls this past weekend, etc. And the whole time I am dying to ask if she’s pretty. I am dying to ask if you think she’s funny. Dying to ask why you are so busy that you can’t even find time to send a meaningful text to your girlfriend when she’s away for a week, but you have plenty of time to meet up with a girl from work on a Saturday afternoon for fucking coffee.
But I don’t, because I know I am just being irrational and that you are often friends with the girls you work with and that you would never, ever cheat.
I don’t, because maybe I don’t want an answer to that certain kind of fatal wonder: would it be better to know you are interested in someone else and so that’s why things are so hard and strange between us now, or to know that you are not and to have to still be mystified as to how we got so far from where we used to be?
I don’t, because I’m supposed to be easy, breezy, and light.