"Post Script," Alternate Title: "He Remembered Things," AlternateTitle: "Let It Go"

"If you would have given me a few more years, I would have married you."

Christopher was typing into Facebook messenger. I had heard from him two or three times over the years. All of those times he was incoherent either from alcohol or mental illness or what have you. I don't know why. But this time he was clear.

"I gave you a year and you wouldn't leave your apartment!" I typed back.

"That had to do with me. Not you."

It was the first time that he acknowledged his depression.

He remembered things. Bits of conversation that I had long forgotten. Shared jokes. Moments.

He had also learned things. Said he wanted to play kickball, something I started after I dumped him. Wanted to go to some place I had visited. Get a puppy the same breed as the Femme Fatale.

He sounded like me in past relationships.

When I realized he sounded like me, I knew what he was looking for. Christopher needed closure. I had always fawned over him until I didn't. Then I met someone and got married. It took about 8 years, but I had left Christopher behind.

I told Christopher that I tried with him--that I had wanted us to work--but he wasn't able to love me in that way that I needed to be loved. I left out the parts where he got drunk and claimed that girls were stupid and when I asked about marriage, he was totally against it on principle. I left out the part where he was completely unsupportive of my life. Where he refused to meet my mom. Where he was a nice person, just a shitty boyfriend.

I guess I deserved his attention because I put up with his behavior, excusing it the first time because he was hot and the second time because whatever he was, at least he wasn't S.

I had turned cold so quickly on Christopher following my 29th birthday that I left him spinning. He left Atlanta and moved home. He remembered things that I let go. He was finally ready for me, he said.

None of that matters anymore because I'm finally happy, I said.