She nodded, then agreed to the plan. I drove home feeling proud in a way that had nothing to do with punishing Minerva or proving Landon wrong. I had simply asked for what I needed and discovered that the world didn't collapse when somebody else was required to consider it.
Jonah's wedding came the following spring. It was held in a converted greenhouse with string lights hanging among plants and a band that played old songs badly enough to make everyone sing louder. Rebecca and I attended together. During the ceremony, Jonah looked at his bride with the kind of open affection that made me briefly remember what I had once hoped Minerva and I would become. The memory hurt, but it passed without taking over the afternoon.
At the reception, I found myself sitting beside a colleague who had seen some of the social media dispute. He leaned across the table and asked whether my ex had finally "gotten what she deserved." The question was meant as friendly gossip, a way to turn a messy event into a satisfying story. I looked at the bride and groom laughing near the dance floor before answering.
"There were consequences for some things she did," I said. "And there are boundaries now. That's all I need."
He seemed disappointed. I didn't blame him. I'd once enjoyed telling the story in a way that made me the reasonable man and Minerva the absurd one. Some of those details really were absurd. A woman announcing her engagement while asking to live with her boyfriend for another two months is a scene that practically writes its own punch line. But as the months passed, I found I didn't want every new person I met to know me first as the guy whose ex had done something outrageous.
Rebecca returned from the dance floor and held out her hand. "They've finally found a song you can't pretend not to know," she said. I let her pull me up. We danced badly. I stepped on her shoe once, apologized, and she told me I owed her a fresh dessert for the offense. We laughed, and I spent the rest of the song looking at her rather than wondering whether anybody in the room had heard about my breakup.
Later that evening, Jonah hugged me near the exit. "You look happier," he said.
"I am."
"Good. Now do me a favor and don't disappear just because you've met someone. Married people still need friends who will help them move furniture."
I promised I wouldn't. On the drive home, Rebecca rested her hand on the center console and told me she'd liked seeing me with people who had known me long before the relationship. I told her I was learning that a partner should fit into a life, not become the only thing holding the life together. She agreed, and we talked about whether to take a trip that summer with some of our friends.