Till Summer Do Us Part

by Meghan Quinn

This is a story about me falling in love with myself. Yup, being a twenty-nine-year-old divorcée will do that to you. The only person I want to be in love with right now is me and me alone.

Yes, you read that right…penis after chino-encased penis. To tell it to you straight, I work surrounded by a real sausage fest. And not just any sausage fest but the worst kind. It’s what the youth are calling…the finance bros. *Shudders*

And at the beginning of my marriage, there was love between me and my ex, there was excitement, there was passion. But as time went on, year by year, I could start to see my husband’s interest in me slip. His passion to hold my hand, cuddle, kiss me good night—no longer there. And the love diminished until the last year of my marriage, when it came crashing down after my husband forgot my birthday, leaving me to eat a piece of cake I bought for myself alone at the dining room table while he played video games.

“Something we tend to forget when married, that we’re tied together in all aspects. What one partner might do affects the other. Whether good or bad. One move tugs on the other and vice versa. That’s why when we’re making our way through life, we need to be aware that our every move is tied to our loved one. We need to be conscious of that.”

“Don’t be sexist,” I say. Her eyes narrow. “I wasn’t being sexist. I was surprised you’ve seen it given the emo vibe you give off.” “This is not an emo vibe. This is me being me.” “It’s emo.”

I got lost in the feel of his mouth, the way his tongue pressed against mine, his light moans. It was visceral. I felt that kiss all the way to my freaking loins, Denise. My loins!” “Dear God,” she whispers. “Not the loins.”