There’s an unwritten rule that tells you you’re not allowed to be friends with your ex. You’ll never actually be friends. You’ll fall for each other again. There’s a hidden agenda.
I used to believe those things to be true, too, until I found myself in a strange place. Actually, a couple of strange places: On the other end of a phone call with one ex, and in a bar on the Lower East Side with another.
If you would’ve asked me months ago if I’d ever speak to them again, or see them again, my answer would’ve been no. But at some point between then and now, I got that feeling in my stomach. The one that extends straight to my brain, and then back down to my heart, probing my mouth to open and say something that needs to be said.
Wes’ father passed away not…
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