Text Messages to My Gay Ex-Husband

By Liz Posner

I hate you.
I will always hate you.
How could you do this to me?
What’s the wifi password?
That’s not working — what’s the Xfinity login?
Did you take the electric razor when you moved your stuff out?
What about the cheese grater?
Did you cancel those flights to Florida for Thanksgiving?
Are you sending me the flight coupon?

How the hell did it take you thirty-one years to realize you’re gay?
What about me? What does this mean for me?

What about those vows you took six months ago under the billowing chuppah, your grandfather’s tallis almost blowing away in the ocean breeze — were you lying, even then?

Did you have the apartment transferred to my name yet?
Are you canceling the Chase Sapphire card or just taking over the honeymoon debt?
What should I do with these silk scarves from Cambodia that I never got around to giving your mom and sister?

Have you opened the file from the wedding photographer?
Did you see how Uncle Kenny photobombed us by accident and ruined that perfect sunset shot?
Did it make you laugh? Or cry?
What do we do with all these photos? My grandmother will turn one hundred in April. We may never take another family picture together.

Have you been in love this whole time with your fraternity brother, the one we met in Nashville that New Years?
Was that longing I saw in your eyes when you fist bumped him, or were you just high from the shrooms?
What time does the trash valet pick up again?

What do I do with all this love? What about all my sadness?
I dream that I am holding a knife against your naked body, poised to slice you open. Why can’t I ever bring the blade down?
Why do I fantasize about your accidental inside-out polos, those hydrangeas in the Hamptons, all the quirks of our years together?
There is so much space in the front closet now that your huge shoes are all gone.
Why does your dad keep sending me long emails telling me I’ll always be his daughter? How do I get him to stop?

What was the recipe again, for that Caesar salad your mom made? That salad can’t simply be gone from my life now. Most Caesars are too creamy and this one is just perfect, the way the lemon bites and the fresh croutons crunch.

What am I supposed to do now?
How do I explain this to my coworkers?
Do you feel humiliated like I do?

Where did you put Simba’s favorite cat toy? Is it under the sofa again?
How exactly did you tease him with your fingers, in that way that makes him mew with joy?

Your dad’s emails are getting threatening.
I don’t want to talk about this anymore.
Have your lawyer call mine.
How did it go so quickly from “us” to “me,” from “team” to everyone out for themselves?

Don’t forget to change your mailing address.
Xfinity shut down the internet yesterday – can you please, please return my calls so we can change the billing info to my name?
I’m worried you won’t be able to make your car payments by yourself
But I guess that’s not my problem anymore.

But for so long it was – so what now?
What do I do with all this love
That was supposed to be for you?

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