Ruthie shudders.

“What was that?” Kent asks.

“Sorry, I just have a visceral reaction to the word ‘zeitgeist.’”

I muffle a laugh at this, but Kent doesn’t even crack a smile.

“I understand what you’re saying.” Dominic pushes up the sleeves of his black sweater. “I just don’t want any of it to feel disingenuous.”

Kent’s hand flies to his chest, as though insulted by what Dominic is insinuating. “I’m not asking any of you to be anything except yourselves,” he says, with the slightest lift of his brows.

A bigger reality hits me, settles like acid in my stomach: Ruthie thinks Dominic and I really dated. Making a vow to get to know her better sounds absurd when I’m lying to her simply by sitting next to her.

“Then if we’re good here,” Dominic says, “I’m going to go listen back to the show. See how we can improve next time.”

“Excellent idea,” Kent says. “And truly: Congratulations, you three.”

But I’m still stuck on the other thing he said:

Nothing lasts.

It probably lasts even less time if you’re lying about it.

Twitter

@amandaosullivan

Who else is obsessed with #TheExTalk? Dominic and Shay are so cute I can’t. If any of my exes were like Dom, I never would have let them go!

@elttaes_amadeus

i ship @goldsteinshayyy and @dominicyun on @TheExTalk so hard, can they get back together plz??? #TheExTalk #shayminic @MsMollieRae17

can i just say it’s so refreshing to hear someone with a REAL sounding voice on NPR? #TheExTalk @most_dolphinately_

Dominic Yun sounds like a pompous asshole #TheExTalk @photography_by_shauna OMG just finished #TheExTalk and I NEED episode 2! does anyone else kinda want shay and dominic to get back together?

@StanleyPowellPhD

This is what’s on NPR these days? Wish you could take back a pledge drive donation. #TheExTalk #nothanks @itsmenikkimartinez His voice sounds hot. Have you SEEN his photo? Hey @BabesofNPR, take a look. #TheExTalk #voicecrush #thirst @_dontquotemeonthis @itsmenikkimartinez @BabesofNPR Add @goldsteinshayyy too

12

Passover seders used to be solemn affairs. They were small, just my parents and grandparents, until my mother’s parents passed away and my dad’s parents moved to Arizona to escape the Seattle gloom. And then for most of my twenties, it was just my mother making a joke about me asking the Four Questions, since I’d never not been the youngest person at the table.

Now the first night of Passover is something of a party. We’re in the house I grew up in, but with fourteen of us around the table, it’s never been this loud. The Manischewitz and various other drinks flow freely, and Phil’s grandkids had fun hunting down the afikomen, a broken piece of matzah wrapped in a napkin and hidden somewhere in the house. This was always my dad’s favorite part of a seder, and he’d get a kick out of hiding it in my mother’s violin case, between books on a shelf, and once, taped underneath the table, which was so unexpected it took me almost an hour to think to look there. Since it’s their first Passover, I gave the kids an easy one: on top of the refrigerator. But next year, I’m going to be ruthless.

I like this part: sharing our traditions, leaving space for new ones.

“We’re loving your show,” says Phil’s son Anthony, and his husband Raj nods his agreement while trying to get a spoonful of mashed veggies into their toddler’s mouth.

“The second episode was even better than the first,” Raj says. “Especially when you stumped that poor couples counselor.”

“Thank you,” I say, meaning it. “It’s been a lot of fun so far.”

Our second episode aired a few days ago, and I’ve been refreshing our subscribers almost hourly. I thought we’d continue trending upward, but our download numbers seem to have kind of plateaued. We probably won’t have a chance at sponsors until we have thousands more downloads per month. It’s still early—that’s how I’m reassuring myself, at least—but I guess I assumed the media blitz would be enough to get us out there. Unless, like Kent said, the landscape is already so saturated that buzz for a new podcast sounds like more of a hiss.

“And Dominic sounds adorable,” says Phil’s daughter, a midthirties dentist named Diana. She’s sitting across from me, flashing pearly white teeth. “I can’t believe you broke up with him.”

“Even someone with a nice voice can be . . . a huge dick,” I say, grasping for the right word and never quite landing on it. Lying to Phil’s family—my family—takes a toll on my appetite, and I push around the brisket on my plate before realizing it’s exactly what Diana’s kids are doing.

“But was he a huge dick where it mattered?”

“Diana!” Phil says from one end of the table. “Your father is here. And there are children present.”

“Dad. I have, in fact, had sex before.” She gestures to her kids. “Exactly twice.”

More laughter at this.

This was the kind of family I always wanted growing up, especially during our quiet seders. I wanted competition for the afikomen. I wanted someone else to ask the Four Questions. Except once my dad was gone, I realized I didn’t want a giant, raucous family. All I wanted was him.