Every once in a while, sometimes more often, I’ll let myself think about him. I’ll wonder how he’s doing, maybe glance at my phone to see if by chance he’s messaged me. Or I’ll just reminisce, which, as anyone who’s ever broken up with someone knows, doesn’t do you one damn bit of good.

But then I’ll have days like the days I’ve been having recently and I think maybe, maybe things are going to be ok.

I met up with a group of ladies at Cafe Brazil in Addison tonight to discuss a book we’ve been reading, The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger. I had a great time. The evening was filled with lively discussion about all things related to the book and to life. The patronage at the restaurant was low, which wasn’t surprising for a Thursday night, so the waiter had a lot of extra time to spend chatting with us. He was an avid reader too and started talking about some of the authors he read.

Somehow the conversation strayed to his lack of faith in the dating scene and 22-year-old girls (which was probably his first problem anyway) and for a split second in that conversation, I thought of how I was now single and probably could’ve flirted and given him my number. He wasn’t at all that bad looking and made for a pretty decent conversationalist when it came to books. But it was both a strange and sad realization to know there wouldn’t be any consequences to my flirting with him.

I didn’t though. It was a combination of fear, logic maybe, and general unpreparedness that brought my thoughts back to earth and into the discussion. There’s no need to complicate things. Things are fine just the way they are.

For now.