The Ex Vows

by Jessica Joyce

it aggrieves me that I can’t list my way out of my recent realization: my closest friends have fully shifted into phases I’m not in—falling in love, cohabitating, building social circles with other happy couples that make me the extra wheel,

I hate that there’s no checklist that’ll pivot me off this path.

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.

“Why don’t I do that?” I raise an eyebrow. “Five seconds ago you wanted to let him burn through his panic.” His mouth twitches. “That was five seconds ago. I’ve moved on.”

He couldn’t fail, because he was so good at his job and it was safe and he needed that.

Over the course of months, our singular, intertwining life turned plural and parallel, until the night it cracked under the pressure of everything we weren’t saying.

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

She looks wholly unimpressed and I get it: I’m wearing a cropped black linen tank top and matching shorts, but clearly I should’ve shown up wrapped in tinfoil, because I’m getting grilled.

It’s a truth universally acknowledged that people who use the phrase no offense, but are the most offensive people on the planet.

he’s in my periphery, giving off Beautiful, Lonely Man Stares at Nature vibes as he inhales deeply, then exhales slowly.

Awkward is now my emotional support word for this, apparently.

Eli sighed. “From the bottom of my heart, please shut the fuck up.”

How strange it is to have a first for the second time.

Maybe it’s just like going back to visit a home that isn’t yours anymore.

it feels so good just to be somewhere you once belonged.

“You’re always taking care of other people. Who’s taking care of you?”

“Oh, you know, good ol’ me,” I say in a tone two hundred miles away from casual.

Eli stares at me, then grins. “I forgot how bad you are under this specific kind of pressure.”

“I can’t say what I really want to,” Eli says hoarsely. “So right now I’m going to say thank you and hug you, because if I don’t get my hands on you in some way I’m going to fucking lose it.”

It’s Party up top, Progressively Panicked the rest of the way down.

“You look so beautiful I can’t feel my knees.” Shock and heat wind around me. I whisper, “I’m a mess.” “I know,” he whispers back, his eyes deep and pleading.

“It’s not going perfectly. Doesn’t mean it’s not right.”

He says it so calmly, so matter-of-factly, that it takes me five full business seconds to understand it.