44 Chapters About 4 Men - BB Easton Page 0,93

I know Ken, he will probably continue to ration his affection and approval for the rest of his life just to keep me on the hook.

And as much as I hate to admit it, it will be fun. Ken might even laugh. I will most likely throw things. And we will do this little dance until we’re dead. At which point, I will probably scour the multiverse over until I find that motherfucker again, just so that we can dance some more.

Blue Balls

July 12

Dear Journal,

If you took all the eyeballs from all the men I’ve written about in here and plopped them down on the table, some would be bloodshot, some might have overly dilated pupils from years of club drug abuse, and I imagine at least one pair would be stained yellow from Hep C by now (ahem, Ding-Dong), but all of them would have blue irises.

My father has blue eyes, and evidently, so has every man I’ve ever loved since him.

(And here I thought I was the one woman on the planet without daddy issues. Damn.)

But Ken’s…I could pick Ken’s eyeballs out from a barrelful of blue-and-white orbs. Not stormy or stonewashed or piercing or cold, they’re a sparkling cerulean that feels somehow bright and tranquil at the same time—like those glossy magazine photos of tropical vacation spots where the ocean is that vivid blue-green color and you can see every fish rollicking beneath the waves, every grain of sand at the bottom, and you think, Pssh. That shit is fake. Nothing in nature is that blue. Because if something that beautiful really existed and you were missing it, it would be a fucking tragedy.

Well, I’m happy to report that that color does exist. And I don’t need a plane ticket and a quart-sized Ziploc baggie full of tiny toiletries to experience it. Whenever I look into Ken’s eyes, I can’t help but feel as though somebody just thrust a hollowed out coconut into my hand, filled with rum and love and curly straws and little paper umbrellas. I relax. My cortisol levels go down. My serotonin levels go up. And suddenly, I’m on vacation, content to bury my toes in our sandy-colored frieze carpet and stay a while.

After eleven months of soul-searching and behavior-modification experiments and sleepless wine-soaked nights, I feel like I’ve finally arrived at my destination, and all that’s left to do is exhale, sip something fruity, and enjoy the view. Although my gorgeous Irish-Spring scented sandy-haired husband might still prefer to hang out over on Ken Island, nursing a Gatorade and checking his phone for Braves scores and stock market updates, I now have an open invitation to climb ashore and storm his beaches whenever I want, if you know what I mean (eyebrow waggle, self-high five).

Listen, Journal, you already know from my breakup history that I’m pretty bad with good-byes, so let’s just get this over with. You’re the best thing that ever happened to my marriage, okay? And as much as I know that I should just delete you and never look back, I owe you more than that. You deserve to live on, to spend your retirement rubbing elbows with all the other smut I’ve been stashing in the Cute Stuff I Found on Pinterest folder.

(You’re welcome for all the Stephen James photos, by the way.)

Besides, I’m probably going to need to use you as a reference tool in the future because I’m pretty sure lack of sleep has destroyed my ability to form new memories.

So, until then, namaste, Little Guy. Your work here is done.

Actual Text Conversation with Dr. Sara Snow

Me: Sara motherfucking Snow

Me: Pack your bags bitch!

Me: You’ve got a date with Matt Lauer!

Sara: Married, middle-aged, and white

Sara: Hmm…

Sara: He does sound like my type

Me: Subliminal spousal bibliotherapy is a wrap.

Sara: You’re done??

Me: Stick a fork in me.

Me: Ken called my ass OUT last night.

Sara: Oh shit

Sara: He hit you, didn’t he?

Me: Oh, he hit it all right. ;)

Sara: Nice!

Sara: Hey, speaking of

Sara: Has Ken ever choked you?

Sara: Because if he hasn’t, he needs to tonight.

Me: Ha! You’re still sleeping with Alex, aren’t you?

Sara: Yes

Sara: Didn’t one of your exes used to do it?

Me: Not on purpose.

Sara: You need to be choked.

Me: Was it that good??

Sara: No

Sara: At first I thought I’m going to die getting fucked by a guy I met on the Sunset strip on New Year’s Eve and then I almost fainted then I came and it was amazing!!!!

Me: He pulled it off without a hitch??

Sara: