My phone buzzes with a text from someone named Kai. I’m about to step into the shower but instead I pause, bend over to read it. It’s short:
Hi! Three years ago we went on a lovely date. Would you like to go for another?
In the shower, I think about it. I remember Kai like stills from a movie, not as a real boy. Tall, blond, good teeth. On our first date, we walked downtown through a barren, wintery Manhattan, the night melting down eventually into quiet water and the casual interruption of reflected windows. I remember a distinct blushing silence before we kissed. Then he took me uptown to his parents’ apartment — marbled floors, eggshell walls — and we fucked.
I liked him, I think. But it didn’t matter either way because the next week he left the city for good. Or so I thought.
I turn off the hot water. Hi Kai! A second first date sounds lovely, I text back. How’s Thursday?
Perfect, he says.
Only it’s not quite, because next he says he should warn me he’s moving, in a month, to Patagonia.
Another dead end.
It’s okay, I text back, we can still have fun while you’re in town. I’m thinking of his body as I write this.
He’s not done. Also, he says, while I’m confessing things, I’m polyamorous now. My girlfriend is moving abroad with me, and we’re non-monogamous. Totally understand if that changes how you feel about seeing me!!! Just wanted to let you know.
I put my phone down without answering and boil water for tea.
I’ve done this. I’ve been the extra woman before and it’s exhausting — so many check-ins. Polyamory is just an open relationship one step closer to institutionalization, I’m pretty sure.
Still, something about Kai’s earnestness is intriguing, new. I imagine the version of him I met three years ago, lying in his child-sized bed with the muscles in his back tensed as he waits for me to respond, and it makes him seem human, something more than just another Bushwick boy.
I wonder what it would take for someone who has committed himself to loving multiple people to stop. It’s been a long time since I kissed anyone. I sip my tea and it’s too hot.
I’m not nonmonogamous, I say back eventually. Actually, I’m quite monogamous, but you’re only around for a month, so it’s not like this can go anywhere real. Would still love to cook dinner with you.
He texts back immediately. I was worried you would be done with me, he says.
On Thursday, he arrives at my new apartment door holding organic dill, even more charming than I remembered. His hair is longer now and he has an earring, the dangly kind, which works for me. I love men who look a little gay because it feels like solidarity even though I know it’s often a trick.
While we eat I ask him about his girlfriend, and his girlfriend’s boyfriend.
We’ve been together for a year, he says, and she’s been with him for three years. They’re deescalating now, though.
Deescalating?
It’s like a conscious uncoupling, he says. Like, they realized that they don’t fit into each other’s lives well anymore, and aren’t fulfilling each other’s needs. So they’ve decided to slowly peel themselves apart. It’s like a breakup, but without the hurt.
That sounds nice, I say. Very evolved.
That’s the goal, he grins.
In bed, he goes down on me but says he doesn’t fuck on the first date anymore. I don’t cum because I’m wondering if he fucked his real girlfriend on their first date.
He asks if he can spend the night. He probably just doesn’t want to go all the way back uptown, but it makes me smile. Maybe he’ll be all mine soon, I think when I turn off the lamp.
For our second date he takes me to a jazz show. He doesn’t ask to come over after; instead, we kiss goodnight outside of the subway, in public, and he packs his hands into his pockets and looks both ways before he crosses the street.
The days we have left for each other begin to wash by. We don’t talk about his girlfriend or the fact that he’s leaving. Instead, we finally have sex and it’s electric, good enough to have waited for. I unfurl crankily in the mornings and he tells me that he’s honored to wake up next to me and his eyes are buttery. I start to give him pieces of myself, unwillingly at first, then more and more readily until it feels like I can’t stop, like I’m spilling over. He asks me what I’m thankful for, and instead of rolling my eyes, I actually think about it.
And then, too soon, it’s our last night. He texts to say he’s running late and I say no worries, let me know when you’re close; but when he finally arrives, tall and pretty and out of breath like he ran there, I find something ugly in my throat and I’m not sure I can look him in the eye.
He’s going to Patagonia to be with his other girlfriend, and it was never a competition, so I didn’t lose. I know these things are true because they were always true. Still, when we get into bed and he reaches for me, I shrink away. I ask him what he thinks of me, when what I mean to ask is what he wants from me. I stare up at the ceiling as he speaks and tears roll out of my eyes sideways, so that they collect in my ears. I hope he doesn’t notice and I also hope he does.
He does. He grabs my side, crumpling me into him.
I’m not crying because of you, I say, even though there’s no reason for me to lie. I’ve just been feeling — temporary. In my life in general. And I guess here too.
That’s okay, he says. Or, I guess that’s not helpful for me to say. I’m sorry. I’ve loved getting to know you.
We fuck and it’s so good.
After, I sleep in short bursts. I dream that a big, beautiful woman wearing an Apple watch takes me to her planet to study me. She asks me about my culture’s customs and I tell her that on our planet we can love whoever we want. Actually, it’s possible to love multiple people at the same time, I say, disbelieving myself. She nods knowingly. Then her Apple watch tells her to stand and she says sorry, I have to fill my rings. I tell her I know all about that.
Then another of her rings fills and her eyes go narrow and she grabs my hand and bites off my pinky finger. One bite and it’s free. Now I’m bleeding everywhere and she is smiling so big and chewing carefully. There’s a meaty pop when she chomps down on my knuckle; my daintiest bones are crunchy crunchy crunchy between her brilliant teeth.
I’m awake again and I realize I’m not alone. There’s a man in my bed, a stranger.
The night is dark and moist and minutes go by and I still can’t stop the thrumming of my heart. I keep perfectly still and wait for my body to stop feeling hunted. I turn my head slowly to look over at him.
It’s not a stranger. It’s my polyamorous boyfriend, the polyamorous boyfriend that isn’t mine. He’s still sleeping, his slack mouth an easy, pleasant line across his face.
It’s just Kai, I tell myself. It’s just Kai.
The reassurance should bring me back to Earth but it doesn’t. Instead, my heart keeps vibrating and my fingers feel raw — like I’ve just taken off all my rings for the first time.