Has Anyone Seen My Pants? by Sarah Colonna Page A

good.” The only scenario that made sense was that he was married, that he didn’t tell me, that he knew I’d found out, and that he was busted. So all he really had to say for himself was: “Sounds good.”
    I didn’t hear from Alex the rest of that day and honestly I figured I wouldn’t be hearing from him again now that the jig was up. But the next day, I got a text from him that said, “Seattle . . . tick, tock. Can’t wait.”
    I was confused and angry. Did I misread this entire thing all along? Did he just want to be friends and therefore my mention of his marriage didn’t change anything for him? The thing is, I know a lot of married people and they certainly don’t make new friends of the opposite sex and then have said friends meet them in other cities on the weekends.
    An hour later, another text came through from Alex. “Sorry I didn’t write you last night, someone was next to me most of the evening.”
    My stomach sank further. Then I got pissed. For months there had been no mention of a wife or a marriage, but when I found out and I let him know I’d found out, now he was all open about it? Did he think I’d think that was awesome? And as for the texting-at-night thing, where the fuck was she sitting for the past sixteen weeks? Because it didn’t seem to be a problem before. I had so many questions but instead of asking them I just stared at my phone. This was becoming a pattern.
    The day before I was supposed to leave to meet Alex in Seattle, I got a text from him asking me what time I got in.
    “I get in at 4,” I replied.
    “Great, text me when you land and I’ll meet you at your hotel.”
    I packed my bags that night. I shoved everything to the back of my mind and decided to just meet him in Seattle and get my answers there. Maybe he was in a bad marriage, maybe it was coming to an end. But these weren’t questions I felt like I could get answers to via text. I thought his “Sounds good” spoke for itself. The only way for me to know what this was between us and what exactly was going on with his marriage was to go to Seattle and find out. At least that’s what I told myself.
    I talked to Jackie that night, asking her what I should do.
    “I think you should stay in town,” she said firmly. “Some of us are going out to Malibu tomorrow for happy hour. Come get drunk and forget about this guy.”
    “I don’t know, Jackie. I want answers. I want to know what he’s been thinking this is this whole time.”
    “Think about it. You probably already know the answer to that.”
    I lay in bed that night with my eyes open, staring at the ceiling. When my alarm finally went off I’d probably racked up a whole forty-seven minutes of sleep.
    I got up, put a couple more things in my bag, and zipped it shut. Then I made myself some breakfast, sat on my balcony, and stared at my cat. So apparently I’m doing this in the mornings now, too? I thought as I contemplated completing the familiar routine with a cocktail. It was nine o’clock in the morning; I don’t even drink at nine o’clock in the morning when I’m on vacation . . . I always wait until at least ten a.m. so that it’s double digits on the clock when I start. It’s called being responsible.
    After about an hour of staring at Mischief, I grabbed my phone and texted Alex.
    “I’ve decided to stay home this weekend. Sorry.”
    “Whatever,” he replied.
    Not the most satisfying response, but I had already come to the conclusion that I was never going to be satisfied with any response I got from him. I knew what I needed to know: Alex was married. It didn’t matter if he was happily married, unhappily married, in a green card marriage, or in an open marriage: none of those were things I wanted in my life. If I thought I felt lonely now, imagine how lonely it would be to have a married boyfriend. I deserved better. And yes, I figured this all out while staring at my cat. He’s like a Buddha, if Buddhas jumped on your