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“I sit across the table from all these perfectly presentable men, and I simply can’t remember what switch gets flipped to make me care about any one of them.”
He’s smiling at me. “I don’t think,” he says, “that I want to live in a world in which this isn’t the kind of love that really matters.”
“The marriage counselor said that sometimes we tell ourselves a little story, and we just hold on to it until it feels like it has to be true, and we can’t switch out of it.”
He has his hands between his knees—his big old farmer hands, all rough and nicked and with dirt so deep it will never come out of the creases in his knuckles.
“And may I just add one thing?” I say. I’m smiling at Adam when I say this part, but I give a glance toward Karla Kristensen, too. “I don’t know this for sure, but I think it’s just possible that after years of dating other people—that it was the giving up and deciding to marry each other that ended up being the secret to finding what we both wanted anyway. Here’s to the law of relinquishment!” “And to the magic of found objects!” yells Tenaj.
