The last words he said to me were, “If we’re going to resolve this, let’s do it before I leave for Seattle on Wednesday.” Not, “I have another interview on Wednesday, and this has been bugging me, so can we talk?” Not, “We haven’t spoken in two days and I’m concerned.”

I didn’t respond. It was over text, like the argument had been, and I had already decided I had to end it. It was a Sunday. I was in Paper Source, with the boy I was sleeping with, from whom, two weeks later, I would walk away, disgusted. But not yet. At this point, it had been five weeks since I’d lost my virginity, finally, twenty-three and at last, and three months since I’d last seen the person I was not texting. Not a boy—too deliberate—not a man—too...

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