One day, a letter arrives. She is rejected from Iowa’s graduate writing program but accepted into Indiana’s. She tells you this with sorrow, over the phone even though you live less than a mile apart.
You cry in the privacy of your bedroom. This was inevitable, you think. It’s been great, but it’s over.
A few hours later, she knocks on your door. In your bedroom, she kisses you and explains: Val is going to leave New York and come live with her in Indiana. But she wants you to come and visit, to continue dating. “Val says we can try it,” she says. “I just—I think I’ve always been polyamorous, and it makes so much sense. I want to be with both of you. I want to make this work. Is that crazy?”
“No,” you say, wiping the tears from your glasses. “I can’t wait to try.”