CHAPTER ONE: The Art of Being Left
MARCUS LEFT ON a Tuesday, which I’ve always thought was its own small cruelty. If a man is going to walk out and take the floor with him, he could at least have the decency to do it on a Friday, when a woman has the weekend to fall apart in private. Instead he did it at 6:40 on a Tuesday evening, with my leftover pad thai going cold on the counter and a work email half-typed on my phone, and then I had to get up the next morning and be a person.