Haze by Andrea Wolfe

Hiding information was really close to dishonesty. "It's Timothy. He says he's in the city and he wants to meet up."
    His eyebrow shot up. "The ex from the story, huh? Are you gonna go see him?"
    "Why should I? I don't need to feel obligated just because he showed up without warning."
    "True," Jack said. "So just meet him for coffee or something. He probably doesn't know anyone here and just wants to say hi. It's no big deal, trust me. Just be nice. It doesn't have to mean anything."
    I thought about how Timothy had taken my options away and thrown a fit when I requested some independence. Just because I had dated him didn't mean that talking with him in person meant anything. And on top of that, there was no harm in being reasonable. "Yeah, you're right. He came a long way to get here."
    Jack was being so reasonable about this. Most guys wanted to avoid exes like the plague. Here Jack was, encouraging me to be as diplomatic as possible. It felt like the right thing to do. Something that would have ordinarily put me in the dumps didn't seem like such a big deal. Perspective could make such a huge difference.
    Honestly, I had tried to keep Timothy as buried as possible in my mind, worried that it was going to bring back those emotions that just weren't me anymore. But this ? This was okay. This seemed like growth .
    I ended up having a bacon-wrapped salmon drenched in an incredible béarnaise sauce while Jack went with the classic filet mignon. Everything was absolutely delicious, impeccably placed upon the platters like culinary art. We shared a chocolate soufflé for dessert, the whole thing topped with vanilla ice cream. I was learning French quickly, mostly out of necessity because I figured I was going to have more meals like this in my immediate future.
    Percy took us to the theater after we finished dinner, and our seats were every bit as crazy-good as Jack promised. We were dead center in the orchestra section, the place the show was meant to be seen from , per Jack's words. He was on cloud nine the whole show.
    I loved every part of it, and based on Jack's never-ending smile, he did too. I felt somewhat jealous, however, wishing I were a musician like Jack. Watching the couple interact on stage made me wish so desperately that Jack and I could craft beautiful songs together, living our lives in a constant state of musical bliss. I hoped we would have a different ending than the couple in the play, but who really knew anything?
    There was nothing but time ahead of us and plenty of room for improvisation , both musical and otherwise.
    After the show, Jack introduced me to a few famous musician friends—including the director of the play—and then we were on our way home.
    That night we made love three times, each subsequent time more intense than the one came before it. The only thing that prevented us from doing it more was the fact that I passed out in the middle of the third orgasm, a reasonably good problem to have to deal with.

    ***

    The next day, per Jack's suggestion, I was going to meet Timothy at an indie coffee shop Jack was familiar with. I wanted to get this over as soon as possible. I hoped Tim had someone else in his life, and I hoped sincerely he was doing well. He had seemed thrilled when I made the suggestion, responding to my response within a minute.
    I wasn't sure if that was a good or bad sign...
    I kissed Jack goodbye and headed on my way, empowered by the positivity of his input. Yeah, I would do my best to remain positive.
    Jack's suggested meeting point was a big place, one where plenty of people were frantically typing away on laptops whilst sipping sugary lattes. There was some room for privacy without having to be inches from the counter and people ordering drinks.
    Timothy was already there waiting for me in the back corner. He looked tired and frazzled, his blue shirt one that he had worn many times before. It was suitable for the heat of the summer, but not original or surprising. He