“You’ll be okay if I sleep with someone else?” I ask, hurt and not even sure why. He makes it sound so reasonable.

He smirks slightly. “I don’t think you’ll sleep with someone else. I know you, Anna.”

I glower at his confidence.

“What? You don’t like sex,” he says with a laugh.

“That’s not true.” Not entirely. I’ve orgasmed with him twice. (Twice in five years.) And even when I don’t like the sex itself, I do like to be close to him, to feel connected to him.

It makes me feel less alone. Sometimes.

Smiling, he takes my hand and squeezes it. “I just need to know what else is out there,” he says, returning to the main point of this conversation. “Because when we marry, I want it to be forever. I don’t want to get a divorce two years later, you know? Can you see where I’m coming from?”

I look down at our joined hands. I know I should say yes or nod, but I can’t quite bring myself to do it. His proposal makes me inexplicably sad.

“I’m going to leave,” I say, pushing his hand away from mine and getting up from the bed.

“Oh, come on, Anna. Stay,” he says. “Don’t be like this.”

I rub at the wrinkles around my mouth that still haven’t entirely gone away. “I need some time before—” I stop speaking when it occurs to me that he’s not going to wait until I’m ready to go through with this plan of his. He never asked for my permission. He’s already decided. I can be on board, or I can lose him. “I need to think.”

Against his continued protests, I leave. In the elevator, I sag against the wall, overwhelmed and on the edge of tears. I take out my phone and type a text message to my closest friends, Rose and Suzie. Julian just told me he wants us to see other people for a while. He thinks I’m the one he wants to marry, but before he settles down, he wants to be sure. He doesn’t want to have regrets.

It’s late, so I don’t expect them to answer right away, especially Rose, who’s in a different time zone. I just needed to reach out, to feel like I have someone I can go to when things are crashing down around me. To my surprise, my screen instantly lights up with messages.

OMG WTF?! I WILL KICK HIS ASS, Rose says.

WHAT A DICK!!!!! Suzie says.

Their instant outrage on my behalf startles a laugh out of me, and I cradle my phone close. These two are precious to me. That’s a bit ironic since we’ve never even met in person. We connected through social media groups for classical musicians. Rose plays violin for the Toronto Symphony Orchestra. Suzie, cello for the Los Angeles Philharmonic.

I’m glad you two are upset, I tell them. He acted like he was being so reasonable, and it made me question myself.

THAT’S NOT REASONABLE, Rose says.

It’s not! Suzie agrees. I can’t believe he said that!!!

The elevator door opens, and I rush through the posh lobby of Julian’s building (his parents bought him his condo as a graduation gift when he got his MBA from Stanford’s business school). I text as I walk home. I asked if he was going to sleep around, and he dodged the question. Pretty sure that means sex is on the table. Is it closed-minded of me that I hate that?

I would not be okay with that at all, Rose says.

Suzie replies, Me neither!!!!

I don’t know what to do now. Other than, you know, go out and have revenge sex with a bunch of random guys, I say.

I expect them to laugh in response, but instead, the group chat goes eerily still for several moments. Cars pass by, their engines extra loud in the quiet of night. Frowning, I check if I’ve lost cell reception—there’s one tiny bar. I hold my phone up higher just in case that will get me an extra micro-bar of connectivity.

I get a text from Suzie first. Maybe you should take advantage of this opportunity to see other people.

I agree with Suz. It would serve him right, adds Rose.

I’m not saying you need to sleep with anyone, but you could turn this around. See if HE is right for YOU. Someone else might be a better fit, Suzie says.

That makes so much sense, Suz. Think about it, Anna, Rose says.

I can’t help making a face as I type my response with my thumbs. Meeting new people isn’t my favorite. I haven’t dated in five years. I think I forgot how. To be honest, I’m scared.

Don’t be scared! Rose tells me.

Dating can be fun and kind of relaxing, Suzie says. It’s not an audition or anything. You’re just seeing if you and this other person are a fit. If you don’t like them or something embarrassing happens, you never have to see them again. There’s no pressure. Every time I dated a new person, I learned a little more about myself. There’s no incentive to try to be someone else, you know what I mean?

Also, from someone who’s done it many times, one-night stands can be empowering. It’s how I learned to demand what I want in bed and not be ashamed. 100% recommend, Rose says, adding a winking emoji at the end.

You almost make me regret getting married, Suzie replies.

Rose’s advice strikes a chord with me, though I’m not exactly sure what it is that resonates. I know this is one of those conversations that I’ll be replaying in my head for days and analyzing from different angles.

My old-fashioned apartment building comes into sight, Victorian rooftops and tiny iron balconies with well-tended planter boxes. Home. Suddenly, I’m aware of how drained I am on every level. Even my thumbs are tired as I type out a last set of messages. I need to think about this. Just got home. Going to call it a night. Thank you for talking to me. I feel better. Sorry to bother you so late. Love you guys.

It’s no bother. We love you! says Suzie.

Anytime! LOVE YOU! Good night! says Rose.

THREE

Quan

I MIGHT BE AN ADDICT.

A running addict. If my mom caught me doing drugs, she’d chase after me with a clothes hanger—she wouldn’t catch me, though. I ran yesterday for three hours, and I’m at it again today even though my left knee’s been acting up. I just can’t seem to stop. Lately, it’s the only thing that keeps my mind off stuff.

When I turn onto my street, my head is calm and the only things I want are a cold drink of water and ice for my knee, but Michael is waiting outside my apartment building. He’s got sunglasses on, his hair is perfect, and he looks like he’s ready for a fashion shoot. It’s kind of disgusting.

“Hey,” I say, using the front of my T-shirt to wipe the sweat from my face. “What’s going on?” It’s a Saturday, and he’s always got stuff going on with his wife, Stella. It’s weird for him to be here.

Michael pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head and gives me a direct look. “You haven’t been picking up, so I started to worry.”

“I must have forgotten it on Do Not Disturb again.” I pull my phone out of the holder strapped to my arm, and sure enough, there are a bunch of missed calls. “Sorry.”

“This isn’t like you,” Michael says.

“I forgot,” I say with a shrug, but I’m purposefully missing the point. I know what he’s getting at. I just don’t want to talk about it.

He doesn’t let me avoid the topic, though. “So, did you hear from the doctor? What did they say?” His face is creased, and I notice now that he’s got bags under his eyes.