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We wrote the rules on a napkin. This should have been my first indication that they were not going to hold up under any real-world conditions, because nothing important has ever been successfully governed by a brunch napkin, but Lesley insisted, and Lesley insisting is a force roughly equivalent to weather. “Rule one,” she said,…

Lesley’s version of a low-key Tuesday invite was “come over for wine,” which I should have recognized as a threat, given that Lesley’s low-key anything has approximately a forty percent success rate at staying low-key. “Just us,” she’d said. “And maybe Sam. He might swing by.” “Might.” “Probably will.” “Lesley.” “It’s casual, Jean. You’re allowed…

Three months. That’s how long it had been since anyone other than a battery-operated device had shown genuine interest in my body. The device was outperforming the field. It didn’t cancel last minute. It didn’t ghost after a promising second date. If anything, it had exceeded expectations, which says less about the device and more…

Lesley and I have one rule now. We didn’t have it before him. That was the problem. It started with a text on her phone, another one on mine, and the kind of silence that only happens when two best friends realize they have been keeping the exact same secret. She looked at my screen….