Not long ago, I hosted a farewell party before relocating to Los Angeles. The atmosphere was dim and filled with the aroma of wine in the basement of a Croatian eatery on the Lower East Side. By the third hour, I had indulged in one too many glasses of orange wine and miraculously ended up without my top. It felt like a fitting goodbye to New York: chaotic and deeply personal in that unique downtown manner.
I reached out to an ex-partnerâor rather, someone who was considered an ex in every sense except officially. I wasnât holding onto anything unresolved. I was in a cheerful relationship, and it felt like a mature, even generous, gesture to bid farewell to someone who had once played a significant role in my life.
The following day, I received a text from him: Is it alright if I ask out Marie?
The wording was polite. The context was less than ideal.
Fast-forward a few months, and theyâre now in a relationship. My best friend and my ex.
Initially, I attempted to view it from an anthropological standpoint: How intriguing, this new kind of connection. However, it has upended our friendship in ways I could never have imagined.
The second instance occurred after I wrapped up a scuba diving session in Hawaii. I surfaced from the waterâless Baywatch, more Loch Ness Monsterâand checked my phone with dripping fingers. A message from another close friend: Would it bother you if⊠You can piece together the rest.
She wanted to have a fling with someone I had casually dated the previous year. âItâs not a big deal,â she reassured me. Naturally, it was already more complicated than that. As it turned out, they had been secretly seeing each other for weeks. She had simply been too anxious to tell me.
Initially, I wondered: Am I jinxed? Is there something inherent in me that leads people to assume Iâm okay with this? Have I accidentally conveyed some sort of laid-back, boundary-less vibe that screams, âFeel free to take my exes, my leftovers, even my toothbrush if you wantâ?
