Hand Made Whipped Marshmallow Ganache with Graham Cracker Crust – by Jocelyn Guest
Me: Tao Yan! Thanks for answering! You sound so pretty.
Him: Oh, brother.
Me: You do!
Him: People don’t sound pretty.
Me: You do. I love your voice. I can picture you in my head, now. I was forgetting what your face looked like – scary. Now it’s so clear in my mind. You’re the prettiest guy I ever…
Him: Michael. Please don’t –
Me: See, now, see – thing is, I’ve had a lot of time to think, and I think we should just think about that fight as an accident, right? Like an emotional accident. Forgive and forget, right?
Him: I can’t do that.
Me: Stop. I forgave you the next day. It’s not the first time a boyfriend has Sherlock Holmes’ed my phone.
Him: Sherlock Holmes’ed?
Me: When you look through someone’s phone. Because Sherlock Holmes is always looking for clues and schmausing around where he wasn’t invited.
Me: I already forgave you for that. We’ve all read Anne Frank’s diary, after all. It’s the modern equivalent.
Him: …….. yay…. you made a joke…..
Me: Come home?
Him: You’re not even home. You ran away to L.A.
Me: It was a job interview! They had me sequestered in a hotel for three days and wouldn’t let me talk to other people. It was bizarre and kind of scary. I missed you the whole time.
Him: You fucked that guy, and you told me you didn’t.
Me: No. I didn’t.
Him: Yes you did.
Me: I didn’t.
Me: NO. I forgot to mention the awkward-grope-of-a-non-fuck we had. It was late, and we’d both been socializing a lot that night. Boners were hard to come by. It was more like rolling around.
Him: The rule was you have to tell me everything.
Me: Untrue. Stop grandstanding. I love you. Please, just let it go and love me back?
Him: You were supposed to tell me everything!
Me: According to what conversation? We talked about this a million times and set forth a million ways for it to work! You said you’d want to know every single detail, and I thought a kiss-and-tell model would be un-weildy.
Him: And look what happened. You’re gone, and I’m dealing with your mess.
Me: Stop it. We had an STD scare. Stop making it a huge thing. Seriously. I’ve been a fag for 20 years. This is level 3 panic mode. You’re giving me a 9.
Him: You hurt me!
Me: You don’t know this, because I was busy calling you a thief, and a liar, and just generally awful the night I found out you betrayed my trust – but me and Kyle didn’t even have sex.
Me: Sorry. The word ‘betray’ sounds biblical. You just had a lapse of judgement, probs.
Me: You read what you read, Sherlock. You think you know what went down? Judge, jury, executioner?
Me: I didn’t fuck him.
Me: We were tipsy. We could barely even get our clothes off. It was a mistake.
Him: I told you about Skinny Guy, and you told me about Montreal Jimmy.
Me: And we had a threesome with Art World Guy, don’t forget.
Him: Exactly. Things were getting out of control.
Me: Stop. That’s your fear talking. That’s not so much indiscretion. I fucked up cause I didn’t tell you about one thing that was ultimately a debacle. You’re using this as an excuse to try to leave me because you feel abandoned. I’m coming back in a week, whether I book this gig or not.
Him: This won’t work for me. You don’t believe in monogamy.
Me: Maybe I don’t, but I believe in you and me.
Him: What’s that supposed to mean?
Me: It means I’d be monogamous for you, if you wanted to settle down. Pay a mortgage. Grab a foster kid and see if we’re good dads? Start a business?
Me: We have a few weeks until March 1st. Will you think about it?
Me: You’re the first person I’ve been able to give my heart to in a long time. This is awful, being away from you, having you break my heart when I’m trying to book the best gig of my life. Just come home.
Me: Will you think about it at least? I need you on my side. I love you so hard. All this bickering lately will settle down once we live together. I’ve been through this phase of a relationship before.
Me: Think about it?
Me: Take your time. I’ll be home soon.
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