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“Which Beatle do I remind you of, Morris?� I ask. He looks up briefly and narrows his eyes. “The drummer who was asked to leave,� he says.
Being single and thirty-five seemed to be the thing that every woman I knew wanted to avoid at all costs. I had no reason to be terrorized by the thought of being on my own in four years� time, and yet I couldn’t stop myself from registering everyone’s fear on my behalf.
I told her about how much time was spent comforting him and buoying him up and getting him out of low moods. How his emotions were always more important than mine—that when we had arguments, his feelings were discussed as facts and mine were interrogated as fabrications. “Jen,� she said matter-of-factly, “do you even want a boyfriend?�
