Phone.
Memes.
Links.
Old jokes.
A photograph from college.
Emily laughing while reading messages.
“Jake says Marcus still owes him fifty dollars from 2017.”
Another evening:
“Jake is trying to launch an adventure travel blog.”
Another:
“Jake says corporate jobs are spiritual prison.”
I looked up from my laptop.
“Sounds sustainable.”
Emily laughed.
“That’s mean.”
“It’s a little mean.”
Then she began defending him more.
“He's actually trying.”
“I didn't say he wasn't.”
“He just doesn't want the boring nine-to-five thing.”
“Okay.”
“You always sound judgmental.”
That surprised me.
“I said okay.”
“Your okay has layers.”
Apparently even my syllables had character flaws.
The first time I told her the contact bothered me, she became defensive immediately.
We were watching a movie.
Jake’s name appeared on her phone.
11:47 p.m.
She picked it up.
Smiled.
Typed.
I paused the movie.
“Can I ask something?”
Emily looked over.
“That sounds dangerous.”
“Why is Jake texting you at midnight?”
“He's in California.”
“Time zones exist.”
“He sent a stupid video.”
“Okay.”
She watched me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No.”
“You have a face.”
I sighed.
“I don't love how often you two talk.”
Emily rolled her eyes.
“Alex.”
“I’m not telling you who you can speak to.”
“Then don't.”
“I’m telling you it makes me uncomfortable.”
“Why?”
“Because he's your serious ex-boyfriend.”
“So?”
“So history changes context.”
She put the phone down harder than necessary.
“We broke up years ago.”
“I know.”
“I’m with you.”
“I know.”
“Then trust me.”
I wanted to be fair.
So I dropped it.
That happened repeatedly.
Each time, I became slightly more uncomfortable.
Each time, Emily interpreted my willingness to stop arguing as evidence that the issue had been resolved.
It had not.
Jake began calling her.
At first while I was around.
Then she would take calls into another room because, according to her, I made things awkward by being quiet.
One Sunday afternoon, I walked into the bedroom and found Emily scrolling through old photographs.
Jake appeared in several.
Beach.
Camping.
Music festival.
A picture of them kissing under some absurd neon sign.
Emily swiped quickly.
I said:
“Why are you looking at those?”
She locked the phone.
“Looking at what?”
“Old pictures of you and Jake.”
Her expression hardened immediately.
“They came up in memories.”
“You were scrolling.”
“So?”
“I’m asking.”
“And I’m answering.”
“Memories aren't something you delete just because someone new comes along.”
“New?”
I laughed.
“We've been together three years.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I actually don't.”
She stood.
“Why do you always turn him into a problem?”
“Because he keeps becoming more present.”
“That’s your insecurity.”
The word had entered our relationship.