The hiking group gave me opportunities to practice being open with people again. On a cool morning outside Denver, I walked beside a woman named Claire who worked in environmental planning and had recently moved from another state. We talked about trail conditions, winter driving, and the ridiculous number of reusable water bottles we'd each accumulated. Nothing romantic happened, and I didn't try to make it happen. It felt good simply to meet someone without an audience waiting to judge what the interaction meant.
Later, one of the hikers asked whether I had a partner who might want to join us next time. I answered that I was single. The word came easily, without the urge to add a long explanation or clarify that I hadn't expected to be. For months it had existed as a status setting that seemed to cause arguments every time someone noticed it. Now it was just an accurate description of my life. I could say it without hearing Lauren's interpretation rise automatically in my head.
I did occasionally hear updates. A mutual acquaintance mentioned that Lauren had moved into her smaller apartment and was adjusting to having less space. Someone else said Chris had become busy with a new project and wasn't around as often, although no one seemed sure whether that mattered. I didn't ask whether Lauren had started dating, whether she regretted the trip, or whether her friends still believed her earliest posts. Those questions once felt central to the outcome of our breakup. Now they belonged to a life I wasn't living.
I wasn't pleased that Lauren had lost the townhouse or that some friends felt distant from her. I remembered how much she had loved hosting dinners there, choosing flowers for the table and making playlists that matched the mood. It was sad to imagine her packing those decorations and trying to make an unfamiliar place feel like home. But I couldn't remain engaged simply to preserve the setting in which her life had looked beautiful. Her ability to build another future was not something I could guarantee by sacrificing my own judgment.
At work, the warehouse project reached an important milestone. Our team had identified several unnecessary transfers and changed a scheduling process that had been creating expensive delays. When the new model performed well, my manager thanked the group and asked whether I would present the results to regional leadership. I agreed, rehearsed the presentation, and spent a nervous morning answering questions from people whose decisions affected more than my department. Afterward, I walked outside and realized I wanted to tell someone the good news with someone, but the person I called was Evan.