The Ex Talk

I used to think that without my dad, I’d never be whole again. But maybe that’s what we all are—halfway-broken people searching for things that will smooth our jagged edges.

Well, first, you’d have to get taller. It’s just creepy for an adult to be as small as you are

short people are nothing if not skilled counter climbers.

But I won’t lie—I want to be that first person someone tells everything to.

But maybe that’s what we all are—halfway-broken people searching for things that will smooth our jagged edges.

I’m trapped between the pain of remembering and the fear of forgetting.

You call yourself a free spirit, a wild thing, and you’re terrified somebody’s gonna stick you in a cage. Well, baby, you’re already in that cage . . .” (Breakfast at Tiffany’s)
“Where I’m going, you can’t follow. What I’ve got to do, you can’t be any part of . . .” (Casablanca)
“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” (Gone with the Wind)
“If I want to be a senator, I need to marry a Jackie, not a Marilyn . . .” (Legally Blonde)
“We should break up or whatever.” (Scott Pilgrim vs. the World)

It’s your typical coworkers turned enemies turned fake exes turned cohosts turned real romantic partners kind of love story.

“I’m not sure I can sleep next to someone wearing such a ridiculous T-shirt.”

I glance down at it. I packed quickly, and of course I happened to pick this shirt. I’M INTO FITNESS—FITNESS TACO IN MY MOUTH, it says, with an illustration of a smiling taco.

“It was five dollars at Target.”

“They paid you five dollars to take it off their hands?”

You’re . . .” At that, his eyes scan my face and travel down my torso. His cheeks redden. It gives me a bit of a rush, knowing he’s very obviously assessing me.

You’re a catch. You’re a ten. I wait for a compliment from this person who’s only ever been vile to me.

He clears his throat. “Cool,” he finally says.

Excuse me while I walk right into downtown rush-hour traffic. Cool is the Kevin Jonas of compliments. It’s like saying your favorite color is beige.