Logan's an artist. He writes poetry. He paints. He helped his father build the house he lived in as a teenager to escape the pain his aunt caused him, the same kind my father caused me. He loves to sing in the shower, in the kitchen, in bed. When I visited him on the coast we wrote together in silence, then shared our poems. We walked along the beach at night. We took tequila shots and laughed. He always calls me by my full name. He's a wonderful uncle, a passionate friend. He made love to me like I wasn’t something delicate, like I wouldn't break. Because he knew how resilient humans could be, he knew we could come back from what was stolen from us.

He had no desire to have children. He reminds me that I am still a woman, even though I no longer want to bring life into this world. The innocence we lost, bloomed bright between our palms when he reached for me for the first time.

His voice is soft, nearly as soft as his hands.

Still, I won't let my guard down. He lied and I cannot forget that. I don't care that the girl visited him before me, not after.

My mother had told me to always be the one who loved less. I failed before, and recovering was still something I was unable to do. I will always keep my heart in a glass jar. No one, no one but myself, is allowed to break me. No one can have that kind of control over me.

When Connor came to my work four weeks after finding out about me and Logan, I pulled him down an aisle, leveled him with my eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"I need new dishes; you took ours." He didn't frown or say it in a tone that sounded defensive. There was humor in his voice. He wanted me to see his heart wasn't broken. That he was moving on. Buying new dishes with the help of the ex who took his. I wanted to shove him and make him go away.

He looked good. Slim and tan. The sallow color of his skin was gone. The hollow look in his eyes was gone, too.

"Are you going to help me pick some?"

I think my mouth fell open a little. He laughed and walked away, calling over his shoulder, "Come on, heartbreaker, you owe me."

I followed him, recalling the way I followed him, for years, blindly.

We made it to the housewares section. His hands were on his hips; he had shorts on and I thought he knew what he was doing. His legs were always one of the things I loved the most about him. The years of hockey had been kind to him. The fabric was pulled taut over his ass, also made of marble. What an ass. No, more like what an asshole.

"So, what do you want?" I crossed my arms, pretended to stare at the dishes surrounding us, but I was really looking to make sure none of my coworkers were witnessing this.

"I want you, but that's not going to happen," he said, then quickly talked again, not letting me reply. "I think this pattern looks nice."

He pointed to a black and white china pattern. It was the opposite of the dishes I had taken with me. If I moved back in, by some strange turn of events, they wouldn't match at all.

I walked away and came back with a plate. I held it in the air and he nodded, so I turned and he followed me to the display in the corner.

I started to gather them and Connor helped, grazing his fingers along mine as he went. I glared at him and he just laughed, not even trying to hide what he was doing.

We hadn't touched in so long. My skin was on fire. I thought of Logan. Of the last time we talked.

I saw a coworker walk by, eyes wide, recognizing my ex. I rolled my eyes and shrugged my shoulders. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing here. I should have let one of the other girls help him.

I fell right into his trap. I felt like I was in a time warp, back to five or six years ago, when he had me wrapped around his little finger.

“Would you like to come over sometime? Help me break in my new dinnerware?"

"Is that why you came here? You could get dishes anywhere, you know."

“Oh for sure, I'm here to see you. To show you how great I look, to tell you how great you look. I haven't given up on us and I doubt I ever will. It’s you for me, that's it."

I stared at him, blinked, and started eyeing the dishes again.

"I know you can’t see it yet, but we are supposed to be together. After everything we have been through, how could we not be?” He ran his hand over the edge of a mug, inspecting it.

“We didn't work out though."

"Yeah, we didn't. But I see it now. We needed this. I was a shitty boyfriend. I've never been so lost.” His eyes went dark. “I didn't know I was the kind of guy who would cry that much. I've fallen apart in front of my sister, my mother, my father, the owner of the gym, and trust me, that was a low moment. But I'm not embarrassed. I don't care. I don't know why I let myself be that man before. The kind who doesn't feel. I feel everything now. You've done that to me, for me. And now, I’m doing this for you.”

“Doing what?” I tried not to roll my eyes.

"Showing you what it’s like to have someone love you no matter what. No matter how much they hurt you. This love I have for you, it’s unconditional.”

We gathered dishes in silence. I tried to figure out what to say next. I couldn’t reply. I had no words for him. What was unconditional love? It was a death trap. It made you stupid.

“I really think I want to move,” I said, reaching for a white plate with black edging. I pulled eight pieces from the rack and walked to a nearby register, starting a stack.

“Where to?” Connor reached for a bowl, turned it over.

“The Pacific Northwest.”

“Really? Is this something new? Or have you always wanted to live there?” There was an unspoken question there. He didn’t know what beach I had been on when he saw the picture of me and Logan. He was figuring it out.

“New I guess. I just want to get out of here.” A hint. A little barb. He needed to stop looking at me like that. He was brushing up against me too, as he carried dishes to his pile. It had been so long since he flirted with me. I wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“I understand. Sometimes, I want to leave, too. I love my family. But it was nice being away from the Midwest during college. I could move again.”

“You could?” I thought of his family, of the way he talked about them, the way he loved them. They were just words. He couldn’t leave them. And I couldn’t understand that. I could leave my family, my home, in a heartbeat.

“Yeah. If you wanted to go, I could go, too.” His words were warm, safe. I recoiled, then recovered.

“I’m not asking you to move with me. Or for me.” I’d never wanted someone to give anything up for me. I never wanted to be a regret.

“I know that. I’m just telling you that I would. I would, if you wanted that.”

“This is a dumb conversation. We need to stop.” I went to walk away but Connor raised his hands in the air. The overhead light above him reflected his new grey hairs.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. It’s just, when I see you it’s hard to not think of you as my girlfriend. It just came out.”

I didn’t believe him. He was being deliberate. He was trying to plant seeds. “Okay. Let’s finish this set.” I grabbed a wide rimmed bowl. “This is nice.”

"But do you like them?" He raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes so large and beautiful.

"They're nice."

“Okay, good. I want something you’d like.”

I helped him pick his new dishes, and he left. I watched him go.

That night I matched with a younger guy on Tinder and invited him over when the weekend rolled around. His new face and new hands on my body erased, for a night, the stains Logan and Connor were leaving on me.