He Said I Was Jealous—After He Invited Her to Our Table. | Triangulation

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I was standing at the kitchen counter, one hand gripping the edge like I might fall, the other holding a cracked mug my mom gave me after my first breakup. Thin handle, chipped rim, the words, you'll survive this, written in gold paint that was already flaking. It was 8:47 p.m. And I'd just gotten home from the restaurant where he'd sat with her, laughing over a shared plate of calamari, while I pretended not to notice the way he leaned toward her, not toward me.

The air in the apartment was thick with the smell of burnt toast I hadn't even remembered I'd put in. I set the mug down hard, too hard, and a tiny fleck of paint jumped off near the rim, landing in the sink. He'd texted me earlier that day, hey, this girl from my yoga class is having car trouble, mind if she meets us. She's really nice, just like that. No warning, no discussion. One text, and suddenly I was supposed to smile and make room at our table for someone I'd never met, someone who showed up wearing leggings that looked like they cost more than my entire outfit and a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Her name was Chloe. I know because he said it three times in the first five minutes. Chloe, this is my girlfriend. Chloe teaches restorative flow. Chloe, tell her about Bali. 1.8. I remember the exact way her spoon tapped the side of her wine glass when she laughed, light, high, like wind chimes in a storm. He kept refilling her glass, even after mine was empty. I didn't ask for more. I didn't say much at all. I just sat there, stirring my water with a limp straw, watching the ice melt into nothing. At one point, Chloe reached across the table to grab the salt, and he caught her wrist, not hard, just enough to stop her saying, careful, it's sticky there. I hadn't noticed the spot. I hadn't noticed anything until then, but I noticed that. I noticed how his thumb brushed the inside of her arm, slow, like he'd done it before.

When we finally left, he took her suitcase from her and walked her to her car, leaving me standing by the curb with my coat half on. I remember thinking, this is not how dates are supposed to end. I'd worn the red dress I saved for special nights, the one with the tiny buttons down the back that always made him pause. But he hadn't looked at me once after Chloe arrived. Not really.

Back in the apartment, I stared at the fridge. The magnet was still there.

The one shaped like a flamingo that she put on it when she hugged him goodbye.

For good luck, she said.

He laughed like it was the funniest thing. I didn't laugh. I didn't move. I just watched her walk away, her ponytail swinging like a metronome set to someone else's rhythm. I didn't confront him. Not that night. I didn't want to seem jealous. I'd been called jealous before.

Once when I asked if he'd told his coworkers about us.

Again when I mentioned that his ex still followed me on Instagram. Each time, his voice got softer, slower, like he was explaining the weather to a child. You're being sensitive. I don't know why you always assume the worst, so I learned to swallow it, to smile and nod and pretend my stomach wasn't twisting itself into knots.

But that night, something cracked. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a quiet split, like ice giving way under weight you didn't know was there.

The next morning, I pulled the flamingo off the fridge and dropped it into the junk drawer. I didn't throw it away. I wasn't ready for that, but I couldn't look at it. Not after the way she'd handed it to him like they were in on a joke I wasn't part of. I made coffee in the chipped mug, the one with the peeling gold letters. The paint had flaked more since the night before. I wondered if it would last the week.

He came out of the bedroom yawning, wearing the gray t-shirt I hated because it used to be mine. You're up early, he said, stretching. You okay?

I nodded, stirring sugar into my cup even though I don't like sugar. Yeah, just couldn't sleep. He sat across from me, poured himself a bowl of cereal, the kind with marshmallows shaped like animals. Chloe's cool, right? I'm glad I invited her. She's going through a rough patch with her landlord. I looked at him. You didn't say that last night. She mentioned it after you went to the bathroom. Some guy's been harassing her. It's scary. I stared at the milk swirling in my bowl. I hadn't even realized I'd poured myself one. That's awful, I said. I hope she's okay. He nodded, mouthful. Yeah, I told her she could text me anytime. She needs support. I didn't ask if she'd already texted. I didn't ask how many times. I just watched the marshmallows slowly sink, one by one into the milk. It started to happen more.