The sun set over my backyard, the glass of wine I’d poured collecting condensation on the muggy, oddly humid autumn night. I traced it with my finger, ruminating in my thoughts as I picked it up and sipped.

Maya stirred at the sound of an errant goose in the sky, but immediately lay back down, too lazy and tired to inquire more into the matter.

I might be relaxing, a thick hardcover mystery novel resting on the patio table in front of me, but my head and heart were far from it. I had read the same line over and over, almost fifteen times, before putting it down with a sigh.

Things were getting serious with Paxton, and I was dead scared.

The way he’d introduced himself as my boyfriend. Met my parents. Stayed the night. Worked his way inside me, both mentally and physically. It was all too much.

I was spiraling, didn’t know which way to turn or think. So, I’d resorted to self-preservation, dodging his calls and avoiding seeing him for a week.

Paxton was getting too close, and I could feel my hackles going up. I could feel every instinct inside of me springing into action, mounting an army of anxiety and self-destruction against him, and myself. I couldn’t explain it to him, didn’t want to ruffle feathers or stop what we had going on. Last time, he’d left me without so much as a “see ya later,” and I’d been devastated for longer than I cared to admit.

And just like that, I was the same basket case who had been jerked around by him for two years during college. I wanted him, but I didn’t want him. I was in love with him, madly and blindly, but I also knew just how irrevocably I could be hurt if I admitted that to him. I wanted us to be together, but years of systematic rejection had wounded me so deeply that I still hadn’t dug myself out of the hole.

Pax had done damage to me all those years ago, and I still wasn’t sure he quite saw that. And until I addressed it, I wasn’t sure that I could move past it with him.

But for now, instead of acting like a big girl and confronting it, I was hiding in my backyard, or at my office. I’d made excuses to get out of dates, faked headaches and late nights at work to avoid seeing him. My body craved him, but my brain was shouting alarm bells. So I stayed away.

Taking another drink of my Riesling, I picked up my phone and called the one person who I knew would give me a straight answer.

“Hey, sweet cheeks.” Chels picked up on the second ring.

“What’re you up to?” I kicked my feet up onto the empty chair next to me.

“Watching Dexter reruns in my apartment with a sleeve of Oreos.” She was nothing if not brutally transparent at all times.

“So, we’re really working on that date-ability rating.” I smiled, wishing I lived closer to my best friend.

“You know it. What’s up with you?” I hear her munch an Oreo.

Sighing, I want her to guess. To pull it out of me. So I give the famous, one-word answer that every girl does to let someone know that something is wrong.

“Nothing.”

Immediately, I can feel Chels sit up straighter on the other end. “Demi, what’s wrong?”

I sigh again, feeling better that she brought it up. “I have to tell you something.”

“You’re dating Paxton Shaw.” Her tone isn’t mad, but it isn’t happy.

Meanwhile, I’m about to go into cardiac arrest from the shock of her sentence. “Wha … how did you know?”

“There is a picture circulating on some gossip sites online of the two of you at your annual gala. It labels him as your boyfriend, and you as his girlfriend.”

I practically choke. I couldn’t handle just myself knowing that I was dating and sleeping with Paxton Shaw. I needed some download time, and now the whole world knew? My level of anxiety went through the roof.

“Why didn’t you say anything the minute you found the picture?” I don’t want her to be upset with me.

“Because you’re a grown-ass woman and I figured you’d fess up sooner or later. I’m not going to say I’m happy, Dem, but I know you need to make your own choices.”

I knew that she was the right person to call, for that specific reason. Chelsea was going to be honest, not friend honest. Not that white lie bullshit that sort-of friends did, but the deep, brutal kind of evaluation that left you with the only answer or solution that made sense.

“It’s … different this time, Chels. He’s pursuing me. Making promises. Sending flowers and chocolates every week. Wooing me. He met my parents.”

“Paxton Shaw meeting the parents, that’s something I never thought I’d see. And how did they seem?”

“Well, you know I never told them about him, Chels. That was back in the days when I wasn’t a dried up old shrew, and they would have beat me with the Torah for going out with a gentile.” And my mother would have killed me for being so weak.

I hear her cackle. “You’re not a dried up old shrew. But I appreciate the theatrics.”

I smile. “Thank you. But, of course, they loved him. Everyone loves him. He’s Mr. Mayor, man about town, the charming gentleman. Even my dad was joking with him by the time Shabbat was over.”

I could practically hear Chelsea’s eye roll through the phone. “Of course. You know I could still skin that guy alive for what he did to you back then?”

“I could too.” I sighed. “But … I don’t know. He’s so different, he’s been through … hell, I don’t know how he survived what he’s been through.”

“His parents, right?”

Again, shocked. “How did you know about that?”

“Demi, everyone in the United States knows about that. It’s just your fault you aren’t like the rest of us rowdy Americans and sit glued to your TV every Sunday from September to February.”

“Fine. But yeah, his parents. And I’m not the same.” At least I didn’t think I was.

“Have you slept with him?” There was the question I’d been waiting for.

“Yes … and I haven’t called him for a week since.” I bite at my lip, nervous to hear what she’s going to say.

For a few moments, she is dead silent. And then she speaks.

“I think that shows how much you have matured. You know to preserve yourself, to be weary of him and everything he did. But … I also think he has changed. At least I’ll trust you as a grown-ass woman to know when a person has really changed their stripes. And you’ve obviously pursued this, you need to see where it leads. Let’s face it, you haven’t been happy in years. Possibly since the last time you saw him. Every guy you date, you compare to him, am I right? I’m not saying I like it, but I think you know that this might be the big one. And if it works out, I’ll be rooting for you both. But … if he fucks up again, I’ll chop his dick off.”

I can’t help but laugh, the sound freeing. And with it, goes all the nerves that were rumbling around in my stomach.

“Deal. But if things do work out, can you just leave his genitalia where it is? I kind of like it.”

Chels makes a vomiting noise. “Gross.”