It's fall, on a sidewalk, in a town I love. It's a month after the wedding. My embarrassment has mostly congealed, though I've spent a lot of time not thinking about what I said to Kit. This month I am a writer. I document my days in a series of blog posts I never actually publish. The blog is called Fuck Love. I'm not sure what the purpose of it is, except to journal my feelings, and also it feels good. You don't have to publicly fail with writing like you do with watercolors, or clay birds, or sketching a tree. Private failure is much more comfortable. I am mentally planning a blog post called: I Didn't Get to Fuck My Love-when I hear my name being called. I turn around to search the sidewalk. And then he’s there-the love I didn't get to fuck- the cold wind lifting his hair, his smile lifting me. My heart is vigorous and angry. It’s not agreeing with the rest of my body, which is turning toward him. No, no, no, it beats.

“My God! Kit! What are you doing here?”

“Hey, lonely heart.”

An ache burns in my chest as my heart succumbs to him.

I fall into his hug, pressing my face against his leather jacket. He smells like gasoline. “I’m so homesick,” I say. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“I was homesick, too,” he says. He brings two gloved hands to my face and looks in my eyes. “Among other things.”

I suddenly feel it; our awkward last encounter comes creeping back to me. I look away, and he lets me go.

We’re on a stage now, and it feels awkward. There are other humans flowing around us. For a minute it was just Kit and I.

“So,” I say.

“So,” he says.

My heart is racing. I wonder where Greer is. Does she know he’s here? Is he here for her?

“Is Della…?”

“No,” he says. “I came on my own. Want to go for a walk?”

I laugh and shake my head. “God. Yeah … sure.”

We walk up Main Street past shoppers and mothers pushing strollers. I try to catch someone’s eyes. I want to relay, using telepathy, that I am with the man I love and can’t have. A car hits a puddle, and I have to jump out of the way to avoid the spray. I jump sideways and knock a little old lady to the ground. Kit and I rush to help her up, and I start to cry because I’m worried that I broke her hip.

“Oh, honey. I’ve already done that. I’m made of metal.” She taps her hip and her knee, and also her skull, which makes me really worried. She lets us fuss over her for a few minutes, seeming to enjoy the attention, then tells us we’re a really cute couple, and we should go spend the rest of the afternoon kissing. I flush at the thought, but Kit just laughs and plays along. With our new friend—whose name is Gloria—watching us, Kit grabs my hand and leads me away.

“I didn’t want to disappoint her,” he tells me. “I did it for Gloria.”

“Gloria can’t see us anymore,” I say. “So why are you still holding my hand?”

He smirks at me, but still doesn’t let go. We pass an ice cream shop, and he looks at me.

“It’s too cold for ice cream,” I say. But I really want one, and he knows it.

“Says who?”

I don’t know. My mom? Society? Fuck it.

“Get me apricot brandy,” I say. I don’t crowd into the warmth of the shop; I stay on the sidewalk where I wait for him.

“Are you … here for Greer?” I ask when he hands me a cone.

He looks confused. A drop of ice cream lands on his hand. “Why would I be here for Greer?”

I wipe away the ice cream on his hand with my napkin.

“Because she was the one. Great love, true love, young love, first love—”

“Thanks, Helena. I get the picture. And no, I’m not here for Greer.”

“Oh,” I say.

We walk in silence for a little bit. The ice cream becomes my enemy. He was holding my hand five minutes ago, but now he is holding ice cream.

“Why are you here then?” I blurt.

“I told you. I was homesick. I needed to come back and do some soul searching.”

“Oh. But—”

“Helena!”

“No more questions,” I say. I make the motion of zipping my lips, after which Kit’s eyes drag to my mouth, and I blush.

“We’re taking a break,” he says. “Things got…”

“What?”

I don’t want to seem like an eager beaver here, but I am. Also, I know how these things go. How couples fall in and out of a relationship, but always seem to get back together in the end. When Neil cheated on me, I tried to find ways to mentally justify getting back together with him. If I could save the relationship, it wouldn’t seem like I just lost years of my life with the wrong person. Salvage what’s left to cover my mistakes.

“I don’t know,” he finally says. “Things went wrong. Even if you have something strong, jealousy will destroy it.”

I bite back all the words, all the questions. I am familiar with Della’s jealousy. More familiar with the insecurity that strikes like a match against anything that threatens her.

“Where are you staying?” I ask.

“I have a place here,” he says.

I look at him out of the corner of my eye. I didn’t know.

“Like, you just keep it here. In case…”

“It belonged to my uncle. When he died he left it to me.”

“Oh.” I clear my throat. There’s so much I don’t know, and that makes me sad. “And how long will you be staying?”