I remember thinking that the fact that I was clearly the more attractive one made me feel better, because I thought that meant he’d never leave. I think of how Don treated Evelyn despite her being, arguably, the most beautiful woman in the world. Evelyn rose to those challenges. But looking at David right now, I can see that I have hidden from them. Perhaps my entire life. “Hi,” he says. I can’t help but vomit the words out of my mouth. I do not have the time or energy or restraint to curate them well or deliver them mildly. “What are you doing here?” I say. David puts the bowl in his hand into the cupboard and then turns back to me. “I came back to iron out a few things,” he says. “And I am something to iron out?” I ask. I put my bag down in the corner. I kick off my shoes. “You're something I need to set right,” he says. “I made a mistake. I think we both did.” Why, until this moment, did I not realize that the issue is my own confidence? That the root of most of my problems is that I need to be secure enough in who I am to tell anyone who doesn’t like it to go fuck themselves? Why have I spent so long settling for less when I know damn well the world expects more? “T didn’t make a mistake,” I say. And it surprises me just as much as, if not more than, it surprises him. “Monique, we were both acting rash. I was upset that you wouldn’t move to San Francisco. Because I felt like I had earned the right to ask you to sacrifice for me, for my career.” I start formulating a response, but David keeps talking. “And you were upset that I would ask that of you in the first place, because I know how important your life is here. But .. . there are other ways to handle this. We can do long-distance for a little while. And eventually I can move back here, or you can move to San Francisco