Top Toronto Spots For… Dates

me gazing at you lovingly between two lit candles

Ah, Toronto. My birthplace, my favorite city, my home. I may have dalliances with New York or Portland or Montreal, but Toronto will always be my first-and-foremost geographical crush. So I’ve decided to write a little blog series about my favorite spots in T.O., in a few different categories, incase you decide to visit and have no idea where to go.

I have an ulterior motive here. The Toronto International Porn Festival is two months away, and I want you to come to it if you feasibly can. Book your flights (or bus rides, or rideshares), buy your tickets, and come see some fabulous porn and a fabulous city. (And ME!)

To kick off this series, today I’m going to tell you about some of my favorite Toronto spots for DATES! Here are some guaranteed-great places to take your adorable beau, your bestie-with-benefits, an OkCutie from OkCupid, or maybe-just-maybe a foxy babe you connect with at a porn festival event…!

The drinks date: Pour Boy on Manning. The Pour Boy is an intimate, dim little bar tucked away in Koreatown, and one of my all-time fave first-date spots. I like that it’s relatively quiet (earlyish on weeknights, anyway), and that the menu is well-stocked with cheap eats and good craft beers. The first floor and patio are coziest for romantic dates, while the second floor is packed with long tables and has ample room for bigger group hangouts (I had my last birthday get-together there!). If you’ve never been to Canada or Toronto before, I recommend trying a beer by our local Mill Street Brewery – the Organic Lager and Tankhouse Ale are my faves. If you want dessert after hanging out here for a while, walk a few blocks east to the Future Bistro and get some kind of fancy cheesecake or a nanaimo bar.

a slice of dulce de leche cheesecake and a plate of hummus and veggies
The first time I met my longest-term FWB in person, we shared a hummus plate and a slice of cheesecake at 7 West.

The late-night date: 7 West Café. 7 West is my absolute favorite restaurant in Toronto. Centrally located at Yonge and Bloor, it’s easy for anyone to navigate to, even folks who haven’t been to T.O. before. Its menu is widely varied, delicious, and not too expensive. And here’s what’s really special about 7 West: it’s open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. This makes it one of my favorite spots for sating those post-sex hunger rumbles. I’ve capped off two threesomes with celebratory 7 West trips, but it’s low-key enough for friend-hangz and even work lunches. The staff are also chill as hell and don’t seem to mind if you hang out for hours – say, munching an arugula salad while scrawling in your journal, or laughing with your buds over brewskies. My favorite dishes here are the pesto pollo pasta, the “all-the-time breakfast,” and the mac and cheese (which Bex insists on ordering at least once every time they visit Toronto) – and if you’re at all a fan of cheesecake, please get a slice of their dulce de leche cheesecake for dessert. Just trust me on this one.

The sushi date: Japango. I was introduced to this place by an ex-boyfriend and it’s still my favorite spot for romantic sushi excursions. Japango is super tiny – probably ten tables or fewer – so make a reservation! Despite the cramped space and sometimes-slow service, this spot still shines because their sushi is so damn good, and the ambiance is charming, in an urban hole-in-the-wall kind of way. My favorite maki rolls here are the spicy salmon and the yam tempura.

my adorable friend Bex smiling and drinking a milkshake
With Bex at the Detroit Eatery some sunny September morning.

The morning-after date: Detroit Eatery. There are few pleasures in life so sweet as waking up beside someone you adore, maybe getting in a little morning canoodlin’, and then trekking out to a greasy-spoon diner together for some hard-earned nourishment. The Detroit is my absolute fave spot for that particular type of adventure. The walls are covered in mystifying sports memorabilia and Kiss collectibles, the staff is a motley crew of well-meaning grumpy bros, and there’s always a game on the big TV – but the food is great and reasonably priced, and you can get a hearty breakfast any time of the day. If you can handle all the lactose, get a milkshake – they’re excellent.

The comedy date: Bad Dog Theatre or Comedy Bar. These two improv/sketch/stand-up venues are mere blocks from each other, so if you want, you can catch a show at one of them and then run down the street to catch a show at the other one. Toronto has a thriving comedy scene full of talented cuties; let ’em make you laugh, it’s good for ya. Y’all might particularly be interested in the Crimson Wave, a feminist stand-up show that happens at Comedy Bar every Sunday night and has a “no rape jokes” rule. If you and your date are hungry before or after a show, my favorite nearby restaurant is the Mexitaco Taqueria, a chill and unassuming spot that makes delicious Mexican food.

my handsome friend Brent looking very serious in big nerdy glasses
Friend-date with Brent at the Mill Street Brew Pub. He is wearing my glasses.

The pub date: House on Parliament or the Mill Street Brew Pub. I love both of these places so much. Both have an assortment of weird beers (try the citrusy Hacker-Pschorr Weisse at the HOP or the Vanilla Porter at Mill Street), great menus of traditional pub fare, and a raucously cozy ambiance. The HOP is usually more subdued while Mill Street is pretty much always loud as hell, but both have their charms. Mill Street’s also smack-dab in the middle of the beautiful Distillery District, so you and your date can shop for fancy chocolate at Soma or gawk at strange public art installations on the Distillery’s cobbled streets. Some of my happiest, giggliest dates have taken place at these pubs, knocking back locally-made pints and munching messy chicken club sandwiches.

The coffee date: Manic or the Rooster Coffee House. Toronto is chock full of fabulous coffee places, but these are two of my faves. Manic is as busy and bustling as its name implies, sells A+ coffee and yummy croissants, and is blissfully WiFi-free (great for dates; less great for getting work done, obviously). The Broadview location of the Rooster Coffee House, meanwhile, is perched at the top of sprawling Riverdale Park, giving it one of the best views in the city (sit on the patio, for god’s sake!!). Did you know that a scene in a Daniel Radcliffe movie was shot there?

The tea date: Tsaa. Fun fact: this is where I went on my first date with my first serious boyfriend! It’s still one of my favorite low-key date spots. They stock a zillion different varieties of tea, and also make stellar brunch and sandwiches. I like ordering a big pot of organic ginger tea with honey and some kind of avocado-heavy sandwich, and sitting in the sunny window seat with either a cute person or my journal to keep me company. Ah, bliss.

two lattes in mugs
Two lattes – but no snakes – at Snakes & Lattes.

The board games date: Snakes & Lattes. It’s a café that also has several hundred different board games on hand for you to play. Awesome, right?! The staff are well-versed in games and can recommend some selections based on your preferences, or you can just choose your own. The food’s pretty decent, there’s a variety of drinks available (including boozy ones, if you are so inclined), and the $6 cover charge lets you sit and play for as long as you want. Pro tip: I prefer the College Street location, as it’s much roomier so you’re more likely to get a table – without needing to worry about whether the next table’s Jenga game is gonna collapse into your beer glass.

The movie date: Carlton Cinema. I love this weird-ass theatre. There’s a piano in the lobby, and sometimes it is being played remarkably well by someone I’m unsure if the theatre has hired or not. In addition to all the regular movie snacks, they serve boozy drinks which you can take into the theatre with you. They also show smaller movies that most other theatres don’t play, and they do a monthly screening of The Room which Tommy Wiseau apparently sometimes attends. Amazing.

Toronto babes: what are your favorite date spots in our fair city?

Here’s Why I’m Not Setting Sexual Goals For 2017…

I’m a sentimental person and I don’t like to break traditions. They’re both grounding and buoying to me. Every year in the first week of January, I write about my sexual goals for the year, and then I go through the rest of the year trying to achieve those goals.

But these past few weeks, my gut has been telling me to back off of sex and dating, and to do less of those things, not more. Here’s a journal entry I wrote about my swirling thoughts on this subject recently; I present it by way of explanation. I only have one “sex goal” this year and it’s more of a resolution, an intention, a self-care-oriented promise.


I have been rejected twice in one week. [Redacted: a detailed explanation of what happened, and how sad I was about it.]

This kind of bullshit is EXACTLY the reason I want to prioritize dating/sex less highly in 2017. I have what sometimes genuinely feels like an unhealthy addiction to romantic stimuli. It lifts my mood and my self-esteem, but at what cost? I just end up feeling like I can’t possibly feel happy or valuable or successful in life if I am not actively flirting with/dating/banging someone. And that leads to dating people who are wrong for me, pining over people who don’t want me like that, having bad sex with people I barely like, and leading people on with false flirtations I have no intention of following through on.

Yes, it is exciting to want and be wanted, but it is not everything; there are plenty other potent and viable dopamine triggers available to me. Spending time with friends, working on creative pursuits, even reading good books. I am SICKENED by how much I’ve relied on men to somehow magically solve my mood troubles this year. I am better than that. I have not spent 9+ years working on my radical self-love only to give away my personal power to other people.

There’s this moment in High Fidelity when, after Rob’s been persistently pursuing his ex Laura to try to get her back for ages, his sister Liz asks him, “WHY do you want Laura back so badly?” You see the confusion spread across his face as he ponders this question. He’s never even considered it before. He’s pursuing Laura because he’s never entertained alternate possibilities, and because Laura has been in his life for years so what else would he do? I feel like that about men. I need a sad-eyed Joan Cusack to shake me by the shoulders and ask me, “WHY do you want men to like you so badly?” And I don’t know how I would answer. “It makes me feel good about myself. It makes me feel like everything is going to be okay.” But those feelings are temporary. And I can conjure them without men’s assistance.

This week has felt to me a lot like that week in February when [a boy I liked] left town and [another boy I liked] rejected me on Valentine’s Day: a compound whammy of sadness, insecurity, rejection, the fear that no one will ever want me and I’m destined to be alone forever. In February I believed that story, and it led me into one misguided romance after another, because I felt so desperately and fundamentally unlovable that I jumped on any and every opportunity to see that myth disproved. But this time I will not react that way. When the universe sends you versions of the same challenge again and again, it’s because there’s a lesson in there somewhere that you still have not learned. I think the universe is telling me to nix my addiction to love-or-the-idea-of-love. This year has sometimes slammed that lesson over my head like a frying pan, and other times gently slid that lesson in front of my face like a note passed in class. I have not been listening. I have not been paying attention. I want to apologize, to repent, to fix it. I can’t believe I let myself treat myself this way.

It almost feels like I need to go cold-turkey… No sex, dating, flirting, or sexting for maybe the first 3 months of 2017. That feels unreasonable, impossible, but it’s not. In all honesty, I may not need to impose strict rules on myself for them to get followed: I’m not currently seeing anyone, I’ve promised myself no more one-night stands in 2017 because IMO they’re always bad, and I’m currently feeling so wounded that I can’t imagine wanting to flirt with anyone for quite a while. Maybe I’ll read this over in a few weeks and laugh at myself, I don’t know. But for now it feels good and right and manageable and necessary for me to take some time away from the thing I’m addicted to, so that hopefully eventually I can come back to it healthier and better-adjusted. I don’t want to have a toxic relationship to love and sex; I love those things. In 2017 I want to pursue them much more mindfully, less desperately, and LESS overall. That’s hard and good and good and hard.


Have you ever taken a break from dating/sex/etc. for mental health or self-care reasons? How did it go?

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The Good, the Bad, and the Awkward: 5 First Dates I’ll Never Forget

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Dating is so weird. It simultaneously triggers my anxiety and makes life seem beautiful. It’s an antiquated practice but still feels fresh and crucial. Good dates can be amazingly, astonishingly good, and bad dates can be unendingly, unforgettably bad.

Dating and hookup sites like Justlocalsex.com make it easy to find dates plentifully and quickly, but after a while, sometimes all those trepidatious evenings start to blur together. There are, however, some dates I’ve been on that I will just never, ever forget. Whether memorably marvelous or memorably mortifying, here are five dates that will stick in my head forever…

My first date ever was with a boy I met on DeviantArt (ugh, god, I know!). A high schooler already, he seemed devastatingly wise and cool to my dweeby middle-schooler ass. We met ostensibly to trade photography tips and wander around Kensington Market taking pictures, but first we made a pit stop in a nearby Burger King to fuel up for our mission.

It’s normal for conversation to be stilted when you first meet someone in person, as you both shake off first-date jitters and get to know each other’s conversational rhythms. But sometimes that rigidness just doesn’t go away. This was one of those dates.

After waiting in line to buy our food and finding we had damn near nothing to say to each other, we sat down with our burgers and fries and tried not to look each other in the eyes. Mid-bite, he shook his head sadly and proclaimed, “This is exactly the kind of awkwardness I was hoping to avoid.”

Needless to say, there was not a second date. I think he later came out as gay – which might explain our lack of romantic or sexual chemistry, but not our lack of conversational chemistry. Dates can still be great even if they end up veering less romantic than expected – I’ve made some of my closest friends that way – but that was not the case here. It was, shall we say, not an auspicious start to my dating career.

2267570972_b6771af296_oMy first good date was with a gorgeous, goofy, purple-haired lesbian I’d had a crush on forever. The week previous, I’d confessed my feelings in a handwritten note containing lovelorn excerpts from my journal. My crush was reciprocated, and now, tentatively, she was my girlfriend and I was hers. It was the most exciting and terrifying thing that had ever happened in all my fifteen years on earth.

We met at her favorite coffee shop, Chocolate Heaven. My cafés of choice at the time were Starbucks and Tim Hortons, so this cozy indie haunt seemed as refreshingly quirky as my new girlfriend herself. She ordered a cappuccino and I swooned; what a cool thing to drink, I thought. I ordered a hot chocolate and my hands shook so much, the mug clattered in the saucer.

We talked for hours. We couldn’t stop talking. Her synapses fired so quick, it was like riding a roller coaster of puns, anecdotes and retorts. Her eyes flashed brightly, her hands swirled in wild gesticulations, and she spun clever yarns I devoured with fervor.

When we couldn’t reasonably linger in the café any longer, I walked her home. On her porch, I rocked back and forth on my heels, shoved my hands in my pockets, hemmed and hawed. I’d never received a kiss; how could I be so bold as to initiate one? But somehow I did. I leaned in, and – ouch – our foreheads collided. We tried again. My nose crashed into hers. “One more time,” she giggled, and we gave it another shot. That time, it worked. I skipped home like the smitten idiot I absolutely was.

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One night in 2009, a boy rang my doorbell. I answered the door with tears in my eyes. He was the reason I was crying, and he knew it. He’d betrayed my trust, and I was crushed, in more ways than one.

I said his name when I opened the door, surprised to see him. “I really like you,” he blurted in response. This was new information to me. “Would you maybe wanna go out with me sometime?”

“Let me get my coat,” I managed to respond, the tears already drying on my cheeks.

We went to a nearby café. I ordered a chai latte, which he insisted on paying for, in that dorkily chivalrous way teenage boys have. As we waited for our drinks at the bar, I chirped, “I can’t wait to call my best friend and tell her I went on a date with you! She’s gonna freak out.” He grinned and replied, “Why don’t you call her right now?” He was a weirdo. It’s one of the reasons I liked him so much. I took my phone out of my pocket and dialed, unable to stop smiling.

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My most life-changing date was in March 2011, and I didn’t even want to go. It was my first time meeting an OkCupid suitor in person, and I was nervous about any and all possibilities: nervous our conversation would be awkward, nervous he’d think I was ugly, nervous he’d be an axe murderer. I asked my best friend to casually “drop by” the tea shop where the date would take place, about midway through, so she could save me if I needed saving.

As it turned out, I had no reason to worry. I showed up and found that the boy was charming, smart, witty, and kind. We geeked out over Pokémon, bemoaned the shortcomings of OkCupid, and laughed at each other’s weird jokes. When my friend stopped by to check on me, I told my date that she was doing this and why, and he was completely cool with it. He understood. We bid my friend adieu and my new cutie walked me to my doorstep.

We didn’t even kiss on that first date, and that is why I will argue ceaselessly with anyone who claims a first date has to end with a kiss or the match was a failure. That man ended up becoming my first serious boyfriend, my first love, and my portal into new worlds. We took things very, very slowly, and I’m glad. That first date was just as effortlessly delightful as the rest of the relationship. I don’t regret a bit of it.

tumblr_nnsjpdxtr61qzigipo5_1280My first Tinder date was with a cute comedian. I met up with him at a sketch show, breathless and late. “What did you do today?” he asked, conversationally. “Oh, I was working on a post for my blog,” I told him. “What was the post about?” he asked, and I had no choice but to tell the truth: “Um, it was about my clit.” He reacted, I should say, admirably well.

The show was so funny I repeatedly choked on my beer. Afterward, I asked, “Do you wanna hang out for a while?” and he said, “Yeah, I really do.”

We sat in the dim scuzz of Comedy Bar for hours, asking each other questions about our childhoods and favorite movies and online dating experiences. Eventually we meandered to McDonald’s for some food. I remember he complimented my blue tights and asked if he could touch them. I think that was the moment I decided I wanted to have sex with him. And later, I did.

It’s funny how, even though that relationship ended terribly, the first date still shines in my memory. Sometimes a first date is a preview of the magic to come, and sometimes it’s the only magic the two of you will ever conjure together. Either way, good first dates are worth appreciating: they are preciously rare in this world.

What are the most memorable first dates you’ve been on?

 

Heads up: this post was sponsored, but as always, all writing and opinions are my own!

5 Love & Sex Lessons I Learned in Malta

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I just spent a week in Malta, an island in the Mediterranean Sea. Years ago, my cousin was visiting said island on vacation when she serendipitously met and fell in love with a handsome, fiery Maltese man. After years of tearful, stressful back-and-forths between Malta and Canada, now they are married and have a beautiful daughter together. What a romantic story, right?!

“Romance” was definitely a theme of my trip. It wasn’t a passionate getaway for me – I was sharing a hotel room with my mom, after all! – but the gorgeous European locale and the people I spent time with got me thinking (even more than usual) about love, sex, relationships, passion, magic, and commitment. Here are five lessons I pondered a lot while in Malta, and still to this day…

img_4471Spend time with people who bring out your best self. It’s soooo cliché to say that travel helps you “find yourself,” but it’s an oft-repeated truism for a reason: being away from your regular environment, and the people you regularly spend time with, shakes off the gristle of your personality and shows you what’s actually core to who you are. On this trip I got to hang out with some relatives and family friends who I adore, and who bring out the best parts of me just by being encouraging, sweet, and welcoming. True, you can choose to be your “best self” any damn time you please, but certain people make it wonderfully easy to do so. Spending more time with those people is good for your soul, methinks.

Your weirdness is what makes you noteworthy. As you might expect, it was certainly an icebreaker when I mentioned to new Maltese friends that I’m a sex writer. I probably wouldn’t have brought it up if I wasn’t, y’know, drunk at a wedding reception. But contrary to what I expected of this conservative Catholic country, everyone I mentioned this to was actually super chill about it, and in many cases, fascinated. I’ll never forget when I mentioned my sex blog to the feisty brunette beauty I’d just befriended and she confessed, “My lifelong dream is to marry a man who has a nine-inch penis.” I mean, honestly – I’m sure few people at that wedding were having conversations as interesting as I was! Don’t forget to rock your weirdness; it’ll attract delightful opportunities, people, and situations into your life.

img_4656There are multiple modes of pleasure, and all are valid. My libido’s been weirdly waning lately – due to a mix, I think, of depression, travel stress, and recent heartbreak. It’s disheartening when sexual pleasure has been such a source of joy for you, for such a long time, and then it no longer is (however briefly). But this trip reminded me that there are so many other sources of pleasure in life: music, food, good company, exciting adventures, and so much more. I had a euphoric experience with some coconut-and-cinnamon gelato in a Valletta side street, and thought: if this is the closest I get to an orgasm all month, I’d be okay with that.

When you love someone, you accommodate them. I got to hang out with a couple friends of the family on this trip who I don’t often see, but who I totally cherish. I’ve always thought they were married, because they’ve been together for at least as long as I’ve been alive – but the lady of the pair told me that they’re actually not legally wed, because they never got around to having a wedding. I asked her why, and she said – with the utmost love and affection in her eyes – that her partner is so shy, the thought of getting up in front of all those people would be terrifying to him, so they opted to skip getting married altogether. They don’t seem any less happy or any less in love for it, and it seemed to me that she doesn’t resent his shyness – she loves and accepts it. I found this story extremely touching and hoped that someday I’ll be so in love with someone that their supposed flaws just seem like wonderful quirks to me, and that accommodating them feels less like a sacrifice and more like a joyous act of love.

img_4494Rediscover delight by rediscovering play. Like many folks, I find it nourishing and uplifting to spend time with kids. I got to hang out with my five-year-old cousin on this trip, posing for goofy selfies and running around, and she reminded me of the sheer joy of play for play’s sake. Unlike kids, adults don’t usually chase each other for the fun of it, make silly faces for no reason, or laugh maniacally at the drop of a hat – but we definitely need to do more of that stuff. I did some “playing” of my own when I took a day off from our travel itinerary and played ukulele in our hotel room by myself all day: after months of feeling uninspired and writing zero songs, I cranked out two new ones in a matter of hours. Those songs wouldn’t exist if I hadn’t been idly messing around on my uke, trying things out, and playing. Sex is like that too: you usually learn the most, and have the most fun, when you let go of your preconceptions and just experiment in the moment.

Have you ever had an epiphany while traveling? What did you learn?

What to Wear to Your Break-Up

What I wore to my last major break-up, in 2014
What I wore to my last major break-up

Break-ups are hard. That’s true for anyone, and it’s true for me. I have an anxiety disorder. That means my brain’s fear-o-meter is out of whack. And that means I often worry about things that no neurotypical person would ever worry about as deeply as anxious folks do. For example: what to wear to break up with someone.

There is such a delicate balance to be struck in this sartorial decision. You want to wear something that makes you feel strong and brave, shoring up your resolve so you don’t chicken out. You want to look good, but not so attractive that your babeliness is a slap in the face to the person you’re dumping. You want to be prepared incase your soon-to-be-ex bursts into tears (or you do) and needs to wipe their snotty face on something. You want to dress appropriately for the temperature and tone of your break-up’s setting, whether that’s your beau’s apartment, a classy bistro patio, or a bustling street corner. You want your choice of footwear to enable a quick getaway, whether that’s needed because of emotional awkwardness or (god forbid) actual threats or violence from your scorned would-be ex. And you don’t want to wear anything that could be interpreted as a sign of lingering feelings for your dumpee, like a T-shirt you inherited from them or a necklace they bought you.

The last time I broke up with a serious partner, it was the sticky height of summer in 2014. I tucked a white tank top into a pink skirt, and put my hair in a ponytail with a pink scrunchie. Hot pink is one of my “power colors,” a shade that makes me feel strong and put-together, which I knew I’d need – because emotionally, I was a mess.

I slipped on some plain black leather flats and departed toward where I’d agreed to meet my boyfriend. About ten minutes into my walk to the subway station, I realized that in my frazzled trance, I’d forgotten my wallet at home. It was too late for me to run back and get it if I was going to meet my partner on time, so instead I just power-walked all the way to my destination. I arrived dripping sweat and out of breath.

When I actually delivered my little break-up speech, I broke down crying. I’d been with this man for three and a half years, and he was my best friend; saying goodbye to him was no easy task, though I knew it was necessary. He asked me if it would be weird if he hugged me, and I said no. He squeezed me tight, one last time, until my breathing slowed. And then we said our teary-but-amicable goodbyes and went our separate ways.

I wished I’d brought a scarf, so I could’ve wiped my wet face on that instead of on my beau’s shirt. I wished I’d brought sunglasses, so I could’ve hid my eyes as I wept all the way home. I wished I’d remembered my damn wallet. But hey, at least my clothes looked cute.


Here are some outfits and the fictional babes who wore them to their break-ups… (Idea reverently pilfered from Gala Darling, who’s written similar posts about first dates, New Year’s Eve, and dream girls!)

Nora wasn’t going to take any of his shit anymore. She showed up at James’ house with a box of his stuff slung under her arm, and kicked his door a few times with her steel-reinforced boot toe instead of knocking. She’d probably scuffed the paint. Fuck him, he deserved it.

When he opened the door wearing his plaid flannel PJ pants and nothing else, she rolled her eyes and thrust the box into his torso, knocking the wind out of his dumb face. “We’re done,” she barked, and turned on her heel.

“Why?” James sputtered. A Ninja Turtles action figure had fallen out of the box and he bent down to pick it up. “What did I do?”

“You know perfectly well what you did,” Nora snapped without turning around.

When she got back to her car, she caught sight of herself in the rearview mirror, all smudged eyeliner and mussed-up hair. She looked pissed, but she looked foxy. She dug her favorite lipstick out of her bag and reapplied it, slowly, carefully, with the precision of a woman who wants to look hot for the next chapter of her life. Once her lips were perfect, she revved up the car and embarked on a new adventure, joyfully Jamesless and unencumbered.

“I’ve always hated you in those glasses,” Jackson said when Audrey sat down at the desk next to his. “Don’t you have contacts or something?”

Audrey could feel their classmates watching her. Granted, lecture hadn’t started yet, so there was nothing else to watch, but the mini-drama of Jackson and Audrey’s Tumultuous Romance had been a key source of entertainment these past six weeks in Existentialism 101.

“I like them,” she said simply, beginning to unpack her notebooks and pens.

Jackson made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a snort, and that was the final straw.

“I don’t think I want to see you anymore,” Audrey muttered. And then, a little louder: “We’re just not a good match in so many ways. We disagree on the feminist significance of Simone de Beauvoir, for example.” She cleared her throat. “And I’m tired of writing your essays for you. You should do your own work; the rest of us do.” By this time, the other students were full-on staring. The professor had arrived, and seemed interested in this choice piece of information too. “Oh, and you’re an asshole,” she added with finality.

Gaping at her and leaning way back in his chair, Jackson lost his balance for a moment and spilled onto the floor with a clatter. Audrey wordlessly gathered up her notebooks and pens and moved to a desk at the front of the room. The lecture today was going to be about Dostoevsky and she wanted to absorb every word.

“I just don’t think I’m ready for this,” Jenny said with a sniffle. They shouldn’t have met in a park; the hillside was covered in grass and Jenny was allergic to grass. That was the only reasonable explanation for her watery eyes and nose. Right?

“It’s okay, princess,” Evelyn murmured, clutching her little one against her chest. “We probably rushed into this. I should have taken things more slowly. I’m sorry.”

Jenny shook her head and pressed her face against the older woman’s clavicle. She felt safe there, but it was a conflicted sort of safe. “No, it’s not your fault,” she stammered. “I’m just… not as ready as I thought I was. I’m still not over Mel. I should have been more real with you about that.”

Evelyn kissed the top of her princess’s head and held her tighter. “I understand,” she said. “I’ve been there before.”

They sat in silence for several long moments, Jenny’s wet breaths the only sound in the air. Then she said: “Can I keep my collar?” Her hand traveled to it reflexively, fingers hooking on the heart-shaped steel clasp.

Evelyn laughed softly. “Of course, baby. It’s yours. You can keep it even if you don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

Jenny exhaled deeply against Evelyn’s neck, her breathing starting to return to normal. “I might need it again someday,” she whispered. “You know, when I get over Mel and I’m ready to give this another shot.”

Evelyn smiled. The sun had started to set.

Alex had never hyperventilated in an airport before. Lots of other places, sure, but never an airport.

Sleepy passengers piled out of the arrivals door, fresh off a flight from Lisbon. Fuck, this is gonna be bad, Alex thought, but then, she always thought that. That was just how her brain worked.

She spotted Matt, weary-eyed with suitcase in hand, and a bolt of panic shot through her belly. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She had to do it. She had to. It was scary but she had to do it.

“Matt!” she called weakly, in a voice that was barely hers. He met her eyes, nodded, waved, and meandered through a crowd of chatty Portuguese tourists toward his girlfriend. She didn’t hug him immediately when he got close enough, and then it felt too weird to do it after that. Alex stuffed her hands in her pockets and mumbled, “Um, did you have a good trip?”

Matt started to answer her, but her jittery mouth cut him off. “Listen,” she rasped. “I gotta own up to something. When you were out of the country, I slept with someone else. And I’m really sorry. And that was really shitty of me. And you deserve better than that. It’s just, you were away for so long, and I got lonely, and I also started to think that maybe we’re just not – ”

“Just not meant to stay together,” mb finished. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.” She looked up at him with those wide, blue eyes of hers. “And I slept with someone else, too,” he admitted sheepishly.

There was a silence before Alex let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Well! We really fucked this up, huh?” she declared with a grin. And then, taking his suitcase from him: “My car’s outside; let’s get you home and we can figure this out on the road.”

They were halfway to the parking lot when mb threw his arm around her and ruffled her hair. “Missed you, pal,” he said, and it felt like a preview of what they could be to each other, someday, once the dust had settled.