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hottest shower of my life.

    I had been happy with Janine—she was kind and gregarious and fun—but this was Beth. As for Simon? I didn’t care what Beth said about her commitment to him. His reign was over.
    I wanted to play it cool, 35 so I didn’t rush over to Beth’s. I grabbed a notebook and a handful of markers and headed for the basement.
    In the cocoon-like safety of my swing, I outlined several ideas. I got so carried away mapping out various projects, I ran out of paper in the first fifteen minutes.
    I left the swing for the larger space of the workroom. Cans of paint lined the walls, probably leftovers from Peter’s jobs. I rolled out a giant drop cloth until it covered most of the basement floor. I took a brush from the tray next to the sink and began graphing my thoughts. Soon the tarp looked like an abstract expressionist painting with chunks of color representing possible avenues of action. 36
    When it was dark, I took a break and cleaned up. Peter had left a message saying he was in Worcester and wouldn’t be home until tomorrow. So I figured enough time had passed for a non-desperate visit to Beth’s.
    In all the turmoil of coming home, I hadn’t made Beth a Christmas present. She and I had always celebrated the holidays as non-materialistically as possible—we made each other presents. So I sat down and spilled my guts in a letter,
detailing how I’d felt about her for years and the new level we’d taken the relationship to. The thing was mushier than a stupid pop song, but the words just wouldn’t stop. I took the Ganesh statue from its box in the closet and wrapped it carefully in one of my T-shirts. I headed over to her house.
    But what I saw from the edge of her yard froze me in my steps.
    She and Simon were making snow angels.
    They were lying on their backs, holding hands, and naming the constellations. Our constellations, the ones Beth and I had named a hundred times before.
    But the most painful part of watching Beth and Simon? They looked happy.
    I’d witnessed Beth with Todd, with Charlie, with Dave—but never this relaxed and comfortable with someone else.
    She was right about one thing she’d said earlier today: Nothing had changed between us. Nothing at all.
    I shoved the letter in my pocket and trudged home.
    I tried to hate her—for using me, playing with my mind, cheating on him—but I couldn’t muster up the anger. Whatever she did to me from here on in was nothing compared to what I’d put her through. She had me over a barrel and she knew it.
    I hurried to the basement to put my pent-up energy to use. But this time, the paint splattered and flew across the tarp at warp speed. Where my work that afternoon had been meticulous and well thought out, this was wild and raw. A Pollock of pain.

    Should I go back to Boulder? Hit the road? Come out of hiding and be Larry? Work side by side with Beth and Simon? Oh, and by the way—Happy New Year!
    I picked up the phone and called Janine, but all I got was her answering machine with the Banana Splits theme song. I wanted to tell her that my name wasn’t Mark, that I was in love with someone else, but that I still thought about her all the time. Instead, I quietly dropped the phone back into its base. Josh Swensen—King of Calling Old Girlfriends and Hanging Up. I barely slept.
    I woke up at three, full of anxiety. It took me a few minutes to realize why. Between the pre-dawn darkness and Peter’s absence, it was almost exactly like the morning I’d left two years ago. I washed up quickly, grabbed Peter’s bike this time, and headed into the early morning.
    My body knew where I was going long before my mind acknowledged it. Hour after hour, I pedaled south, then east. Thankfully, most of the roads were clear.
    Somewhere around Plymouth, I couldn’t avoid facing my destination.
    I was returning to the scene of the crime.
    As I pedaled, the colors