We Can't Keep Meeting Like This

by Rachel Lynn Solomon

At this point, I should be strong enough to resist a cute guy in a well-tailored suit.

and the next thing I knew, I was shoving myself into a broom closet and shutting the door behind me. It’s possible I’m not great at confrontation.

dark hair, blue eyes, one perfect dimple when he smiled.

My man my man my man

I ended things via text the following day, three weeks ago.

It would be easier if he never had to see me again, if we never had to talk about it. If I never had to think about those twelve minutes in the back seat of his car or the bruise on my hip shaped like the gearshift of a 2006 Honda Civic.

WAIT WOAH WOAH WOAH WAT

Jonathan confronting me on his way down the aisle and demanding an explanation. Jonathan reciting our text history in lieu of a toast. Jonathan requesting a harp rendition of “Like a Virgin.”

All of which are not going to happen

With everything else, I can force a smile. I can pretend I still believe in the magic of happily ever after, that the bride and groom will always gaze at each other the way they’re going to under the chuppah tonight.

It’s been years since I had an allergic reaction, mainly because I don’t encounter mangos very often.

Mangos?

He’s Egyptian American,

I WOULD FALL OVER CRYING HE IS SO WHAGT?!