My friend called me the other day to tell me how lucky I was to be single. I asked her what was going on. She explained her husband was on one of those “drank too much” rants. She told me I had it perfect because if I didn’t like something in my relationship I could just go home to my place and didn’t have to deal with anymore difficulty or drama.
I beamed. I did have it good. The next day I was with the same friend going to an event with she and her husband. I was the third wheel. The two spent the day holding hands, sharing inside jokes, and literally gazing into each other’s eyes. They were even thoughtful over little things, like getting chocolate for the other person.
There I was alone—okay—I was no worse off being with them and forcing a plastic smile, pretending I never wanted the depth they had and all those years of being together.