“I must have gotten the dates wrong.”

“Whatever. I’m wiped. I’m going to bed. Nice to meet you, Tom.”

“It’s Tim,” my mom says.

“Night, Tim. Please wear pants in the future.”

“Uhhh…”

I don’t wait for actual words. I take my bag from my mom and carry it to my room. If this turns out to be more than half a dozen dates, I’m going to have to consider my options. I can’t go through another one of my mother’s boyfriend cycles. The guys she picks make Benji look like a damn saint.

***

Over the next week I don’t hear from Randy at all. I’d like to say I don’t perseverate on this, but I do. And I masturbate often to his pretty face. It’s not hard to pull up a pic of him on social media. I creep his Facebook page, but asking him to be friends would take us from casual to something else. We don’t want to do that, so creeping is as far as I’m allowing it to go.

September rolls into October, and the leaves turn a lovely shade of red, followed by orange and yellow. Fall’s an interesting season. It’s beautiful, but all those lovely colors represent leaves choking to death. It’s kind of macabre, really.

I slip back into my normal routine: work at the coffee shop, teach skating lessons, hang out with Sunny when I’m not doing either of those things and she’s available. Now that training is over and the regular hockey season has begun, Miller can’t visit as often.

She’s talking more and more about moving at the end of December, after she’s finished the course component of her public relations program. Internship placements can be done anywhere, and she’s already gone to the program coordinator to discuss options in the States. I don’t know that I’d want to up and move my entire life for another person, but then my relationship experience has been limited.

On the ex-boyfriend front, Benji’s started calling again. I’ve come to recognize the pattern. The longest we’ve ever been broken up in the past is eight weeks—long enough for me to go on some dates; sometimes have meaningless sex I feel guilty about afterwards, and then we get back together. Break up again. Make up again.

I try hard not to respond or encourage him, but I have a box of his crap at my place, and he’s got stuff of mine, including my favorite jeans. Seeing him is inevitable. Benji and I have been through a lot together. It was a lot of years, and he was there when I lost my Olympic dream. In the past that’s been enough to pull me back to him after one of our breakup fights. But not this time. Among other things, now that I’ve had much, much better sex—like, the outstanding kind—my position feels less vulnerable. Still, I’d like to avoid him for as long as I can.

Today I’m pulling eight hours at the coffee shop and rushing to the rink to teach three hours of lessons. I’m on hour number six, and there’s a lag between customers. It makes the day seem that much longer. My feet hurt, and I’m tired. I’m also cranky.

My phone buzzes against my ass, signaling a text. Since I’m sometimes the manager, I won’t get in trouble for checking it, but I try to avoid doing that in front of other employees in case it gives them the impression it’s okay for them to do it, too.

I scan the shop, once I’m sure no one is paying attention to me, I slip my phone out. I sigh as Benji’s name comes up, along with three new messages. He wants to meet up, presumably to give me my stuff back, but he’s vague. I make the mistake of telling him I’m working, so I can’t.

Half an hour later he shows up. The counter is a great barrier, keeping him from hugging me. He looks the same as he did the last time I saw him, which was almost a month ago when he stopped by with some girl. I went to the back and made one of the other girls wait on them. He texted a thousand apologies later and said she was one of his coworkers. I know better. He did it to make me jealous.

He’s still growing that awful beard, which isn’t really a beard. It’s a bunch of patchy scruff. It’s not attractive. He’s wearing a shirt I gave him two years ago for his birthday. He doesn’t have a bag or a box or anything with him, but it could be in his car.

“Hey, Lily.”

“Hi, Benji.”

He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “You look great.”

“Thanks.” I roll back on my heels and wait.

The awkward silence drags on until his face starts to turn red. “Think you can take a break?”

“I’ve already taken it.”

He sighs, and my toes curl in my shoes, like they want to be fists and punch him in the knees.

“Aren’t you, like, kinda the manager? Can’t you take one whenever you want?”

“We’re short staffed.” It’s a lie. There are only three people in the shop, and two other people are working with me. One of the girls is in the back checking inventory; the other one is cleaning tables.

Benji glances pointedly at the girl across the shop. “Come on, Lily.”

“I can’t. It’s her break in five minutes. She has to have one. It’s unfair otherwise.”

“Well, what time do you get off?”

“In an hour. I have to go straight to the rink after that.”

“I’ll drive you.” Benji knows I don’t have a car, and that it’ll take almost an hour to get from downtown to the rink at the university by bus.

“Fine. Sure.”

“Great.” He smiles.