That Summer Feeling

by Bridget Morrissey

Ultimately, acknowledging my divorce as often as possible took the edge off other people’s opinions of it. No one could ever judge me too harshly if I judged myself harder and louder than they’d ever dare.

“Why did I say that?” I asked, laughing with her. “I’m a mess. I haven’t had to flirt in years. It makes me want to die inside.”

I didn’t want to be someone who needed another person to do work for them anymore.

He shook his head and said affectionately, “You really have not changed.” “Yes I have,” Stevie told Tommy. “I’m much gayer now.”

It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her. I did. More than made sense for how long we’d known each other. The problem was me. It always was. I didn’t trust that I could stay out of my own head long enough to finish the course.

Scary things could be fun. I’d forgotten. Maybe I’d never known at all. I’d been too afraid to find out. Funny how that worked.