The Ex Vows

by Jessica Joyce

The first time I walked in, something unraveled in my chest; it felt like home, not a place where two people lived with sometimes intertwining lives.

questions. He doesn’t trust me with his heavy stuff yet, but eventually he’ll trust me with a lot of it, before we both start hiding ourselves away.

I’ll watch him test versions of nicknames with other friends, but mine will only ever be Peach. When I eventually ask him why, he’ll tell me it’s because he knew exactly who I was to him from the start.

Years later Eli will tell me that he fell in love with me right then, and in this movie-like memory I always see it—how we can’t quite break eye contact, the flush along the shell of his ear when I sit next to him on the couch minutes later, the way his eyes linger on me when Adam and I bicker over control of the TV, the steady bounce of his knee. The beautiful, shy smile he gives me over the pizza we have for dinner later. He’ll hold on to it for years, but eventually that spark will become a wildfire. And then we’ll burn it all down.

Sometimes I swear adulthood is staring at your phone and wondering which of your friends has enough time to deal with your latest emotional meltdown, then realizing none of them do.

If I do, my friends will probably forget I exist (don’t even have to say it)

Adam had never given me any indication he had plans to cut me loose, but I knew, thanks to my mom’s disappearing act and the transient friendships of my youth, that these things could happen anytime and for less legitimate reasons.

Apparently his job had gotten in the way. It took everything in me not to laugh, or scream. His job got in the way of every relationship he’d ever had. Ours most of all.

“and I’m fucked up with anxiety, except it’s mixed with intense joy and all these other weird emotions and Grace—”

She's Pregnant

“Must’ve been some thoughts.” “You have no idea.”

“You’re more beautiful than ever. Isn’t she, Eli?” I let out what’s supposed to be a carefree laugh; it sounds like I’m choking. “Oh, he doesn’t—” “Yes.” Eli’s response is immediate.

I start to back up, but he hooks a finger through the belt loop of my jeans, stopping me in my tracks.

I’m being trolled. I’m in the seventh circle of hell. I’ll never roll my eyes at Adam’s belief in curses again. Maybe it’s not his wedding that’s cursed. Maybe it’s me.

I hear what he doesn’t say: you can rely on me this time. We both feel the specter of missed dinners and weekend trips canceled, of feelings I didn’t share and plans I made without him, of nights where I fell asleep alone in an apartment it felt like we shared in name only.

I didn’t want to stay with my dad, even temporarily; I’d just left a workaholic who largely forgot that I lived with him.

There’s a long pause before Adam whispers, “Gracie. It’s the fucking curse.”

Over the years, I grew more careful with my closest friendships. I’d learned from Heather and Mya, where I’d been too eager, too needy for their time and attention. I tempered myself, never asked for too much, made sure I gave more than I took.

Really, the only time he ever slept in was after a rare extra-late weekend date, or when his anxiety got the best of him and he’d spend the night— “Pacing around the living room.”

It’s a gift to know someone when you’re in love with them, and a curse when you’re out of it.

“She didn’t even give us confirmation that she’d bake our cake. She just said, ‘We’ll see.’ ” Eli peeks around the trunk. “What does that mean?” “Hell if I know.

“There you are.” A smile melts across his face, slow and sleepy. “Hey, Peach.”

“Shit.” “What?” My tone is carefully blank. It’s not the first time I’ve been handed a shit sponsored by Eli’s phone, so I hate myself for the spike of disappointment I feel. I know better.

He made it out rarely, missed more nights than he made, and I understood, understood, understood. His exhausted relief made me feel like I was good, I was easy. I’d done this before.

He watched me push myself away from him and pushed back at first—asked me if I was okay, would I tell him if I wasn’t? But I couldn’t. I remembered telling my dad I wasn’t okay at eight, at eleven, remembered him trying to find me a therapist and then outsourcing the search to a family friend because he didn’t have enough hours in the day. I remembered how that wrecked him.

Eventually Eli stopped asking and I stopped inviting him places. I hid those ugly emotions to protect myself. And him, too. I tried to pull him in one last time, though—that night in December is etched into my memory. I was back in San Francisco by New Year’s.

“It’s not what you think it is.” “It doesn’t matter what I think.” “It actually does,” he says, his voice low. “Very much.”

“Well, I saw the way he was looking at you when you came in.” Sarika shoots me an encouraging smile. “It was like you were the only person on the planet.”

My hand slams down on his thigh. On instinct, I slide up to squeeze the thick, hard arch of muscle. My animal brain remembers exactly what kind of touch robs him of speech and I need him to shut. Up.

“It wasn’t a work call, okay? I had a therapy appointment. On the count of three, pull so we can get this fucking thing out.”

“I didn’t bail. I explained the situation and he actually encouraged me to show up for—” His mouth presses into a firm line, before he continues carefully,

“I made the right choice, Georgia. You’re not good at communicating your needs, especially when you’re drowning.” It’s a direct press on an old, painful bruise. “I didn’t need—” I cut myself off before I say you, but Eli hears it anyway. He huffs out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah, I got that loud and clear.”

I learned so young that other people’s needs were default, that mine had to be scheduled to be met, or, more easily, taken care of myself. It was reinforced by my dad, who did his best while juggling a demanding career but only dropped the balls with my name on them; by my mom, who walked away because my mere existence was too much to handle; by the friends who didn’t stick like Adam and Jamie and Eli, who were cool until I needed things or felt too much. Eventually Eli did it to me, too, but first he made sure I never had to say what I needed out loud;

“I’m just wondering why you’re willing to take that conversation on alone.” “Because I know it’ll kill you to disappoint him.” He gives me a small, wooden smile as he pulls his phone from the pocket of his backpack, nestled next to his suitcase. “And because I’m used to it.”

“So you did give her bad D,” Cole says triumphantly. “He never gave me bad—” I cut myself off so suddenly my body sways, my cheeks flaming at the choked sound Eli makes and the laugh Cole lets out.

Cole flicks the paper ring into the air, right at me.

There’s a quiet to his voice, some silent reassurance that whatever I need he’ll take care of. I shouldn’t trust that, because I’ve leaned on people before and they’ve let me fall. He has.

I know. I follow him on Instagram, press a little heart onto every picture he posts of his work—beautiful furniture made of reclaimed wood that gets hundreds of likes and dozens of comments.

I miss them all, but Kelly especially; I used to dream about calling her Mom someday.

just know that when Eli wraps his arms around my waist following a brief hesitation, it feels like coming home after the longest time away.

“Anytime.” “Well, hopefully never again.” I say it lightly, but I’m not joking. “Anytime,” he repeats, with emphasis.

“Should I?” His response is quiet, a small confession. “I’d like you to.”

“This bed is more than big enough for both of us.” “But is it big enough for the three of us?” “What?” He glances down between us. “Nick Miller here.” Dammit. I yank one of the pillows up, whipping it at him. He catches it with a laugh.

“That’s not to say I’m opposed to the position under other circumstances,” he continues. “Just not for Adam.”

“This isn’t our last chance,” he says, and for a second I think he’s talking about us,

so if this place is up to your standards we’ll make it work. Even if I have to get on my knees.” “I thought you crossed that option off the list.” The corners of his eyes crinkle. I have to curl my hands into fists to stop from touching those time-worn lines. “I will if it comes down to it, for you.”

“Now back to you two. Are we talking love at first sight?” “No,” I say in unison with Eli’s, “Yes.”

Maybe I didn’t give him all of me, but I gave him more than I ever gave anyone else, and instead of taking it back I locked it up.

“Unless it would be too weird, what with your previous intimate knowledge of each other’s nighttime habits.” Eli sighed. “From the bottom of my heart, please shut the fuck up.”

“So tell me what you want.” “I did.” “Say it again,” he demands. “You.”

“You and I are going to have a reckoning, Georgia. It doesn’t have to be this week, but it’s going to happen.”