She’d lived for years now, and happily, freed by the realization that she didn’t need to believe the books, the television shows, the commercials that told her, if she was single, there was something wrong with her. That if she liked it, she was lying to herself. If she chose it actively and indefinitely, if she didn’t think of her single life as a holding pattern, a prelude to the next (coupled) life, then she was—what even was she? A nun, repressed and suspect? A witch, dangerously free? A spinster with a cat, pathetic and irrelevant? In other words, confused. But she wasn’t confused. She
...more
