Noon Sunday, April 27th, 2025

Reine and Lyrou met again, but for coffee, taking their drinks and walking to a running track at the nearby community college. Reine wasn’t just angry; she was pissed and perturbed. She was seeing red. “I can’t even begin!”

“OK, start at the start.” Lyrou invited Reine to vent.

“Philip, he has $292,000 in a secret account he made,” she exclaimed, gritting her teeth, her hands talking more loudly than her mouth.

“$292,000?” Lyrou was impressed.

“I’d no idea.” Reine slapped her thighs in frustration as they walked. “I only found it by looking into his credit report. I was using his laptop to make material for my students, and he was still logged into his financial page. I didn’t snoop. I asked him if I could look, and he said yes.”

“He knew you would really look if he said no,” Lyrou added.

“Right!? Maybe. But I really did look anyway, and there it was!” Reine gestured as if the laptop screen were before them to review.

“Vacation money.” Lyrou grinned and shrugged.

“He won’t touch it. He says he made it from investing, and it’s his to decide what to do with. We have debts tumbling out of our attic, Lyrou. And why didn’t he tell me?” Reine winced as they walked the track, deftly dodging an overpowered lawn sprinkler. “I mean, he doesn’t have to pay off my student debt; it’s mine. But everything else?”

“Men store away money; it isn’t uncommon. They don’t know when a divorce might strike, or when they need to pay a stripper to do some family planning, or when they’re going to disappear without a trace and start a new life under a fake name.” Lyrou was imaginative.

“That is fucking horrible, Lyrou. I don’t need to hear that right now.” Reine clasped her face in her hands.

“Sorry, not sorry. You do need to hear it,” Lyrou insisted.

“My God. You’re right. I don’t think you’re right, but you could be. I shouldn’t be willfully blind.” Reine began to think about where Philip might relocate. “He talks about Alaska much more than a normal man should.”

“You can also save your money. If he has that right, so do you,” Lyrou offered.

“But…” Reine didn’t want to say it.

“That isn’t the problem. That he kept that money secret is the problem.” Lyrou understood.

“I didn’t think that was something he’d do. It’s not a small amount over a short time.” Reine languished, their pace on the track slowing; they were passed by several jogging university students.

“Let’s go have a sit on the bleachers.” Lyrou walked with Reine to the stands, sitting beside her.

“It makes me think we aren’t, I mean, where is his head? Where is his mind? How does he think that’s a good idea?” Reine slumped.

“You make such a travesty of it because you lack perspective. He lied but not whole cloth. Philip keeps a part of himself away from you, a part of himself not subject to your marriage. That’s his perspective, which you don’t have,” Lyrou explained.

“I don’t want him to have a part of himself not subject to our marriage, not such a big part.” Reine’s eyes watered with frustration.

“But he does. And you don’t. He isn’t being unfair to you, though. You’re unfair to yourself.” Lyrou put on her sunglasses, striking a deal-with-it pose.

“I don’t know what I want to do.” Reine looked at Lyrou, nothing more to say.

Lyrou and Reine saw him at the same time. “Heavy fire incoming,” Lyrou mumbled.

He gave Reine a brief look-over and quick smile. Reine’s head pivoted so unabashedly as this handsome military man jogged by on the track, his shirtless battle-body glistening with sweat, a soldier’s vitality coming through, his ass flexing in tight camo shorts with each stride. Lyrou bore witness. “Quel mâle,” she said under her breath.

Reine suppressed her smile, turned to Lyrou, and snickered. “Sir, yes, sir.”

Not Reine’s usual language. Lyrou was hit with an epiphany: why Reine had grabbed so fervently at this fight with Philip, and why she was now telling Lyrou of it. She stopped and smiled at Reine. “Is that it?”

“What?” Reine feigned ignorance.

Lyrou threw her head back and let out one loud laugh. “Reine. Reine. Reine.”

“What, Lyrou?!” Reine shrugged.

“The girl who cannot raise her hand in class and say what she wants, she asks her friend to fill in the blanks of this difficult test for her, and with all the wrong answers,” Lyrou explained.

Reine took a minute to process Lyrou’s meaning. “What are you saying?”

“You want me to give you a push?” Lyrou lightly pushed Reine’s shoulder.

Reine was now ready to admit she was already on that same page as Lyrou had just turned to. With a little gasp, she said, “No, I can’t.”

“Every woman can. It’s a matter of imperative,” Lyrou assured her.

“No,” Reine objected meekly.

“If I can think it, I can do it,” Lyrou simplified it.

“I’ve thought about other guys, it’s just human to, but I couldn’t handle the kind of life you’re living. One man is a lot for me.” Reine laughed nervously.

Reine leaned in. In a conspiratorial whisper, she confessed, “But I do imagine, Lyrou, the unknown splendor of letting someone else into my life just for a night.”

Lyrou inhaled deeply, remembering when she’d felt so. “Just for a night. Right.”

Reine repeated herself, emphasizing that she wasn’t serious, or not that serious. “I just imagine it. It’s a fantasy. People don’t have to act on their fantasies.”

Lyrou paused, watching the embarrassed emotions flicker across Reine’s face. “What do you imagine? What is your fantasy?”

Reine elaborated. “Part of me says, I don’t have to live it, but I could have one taste.”

Lyrou stood and took a step back onto the track, her hips swaying slightly as she moved. “A tiny taste? What else does that part of you say?”

Reine nodded and looked into the distance. “It says, imagine, for a moment, what it would be like to tell Philip I’d been with someone else,” she said, her eyes gleaming. “How it would make him feel, knowing that he wasn’t the only one anymore.”

Lyrou watched as Reine’s cheeks flushed, the idea watering a seed planted in her mind. “It’s all under your control,” she added, her voice dropping. “You choose when, you choose who. You choose if Philip will ever know, unless, like me, you take it too far for too long. It’s your fantasy, until you want it to become real.”

Reine stood and began to walk beside Lyrou. “I’d feel so guilty.”

Lyrou’s eyes sparkled mischievously as she watched Reine’s reaction. “Guilt is a powerful emotion. But it’s small beside the rush of doing something so unspeakable. And the guilt is that dash of Angostura bitters that adds a zing to your Old Fashioned.” Lyrou took a step closer, her hand brushing against Reine’s arm.

“I can’t. I know technically I could. And I could keep it to myself. But at the same time, it’s a red line.” Reine’s gaze was low, a breeze rustling her cerise hair about.

“There must be someone you have a crush on, or maybe you would prefer someone completely new, someone not from your day-to-day. I mean, if you were to only once, who’d it be, or what kind of man would he be?” Lyrou poked Reine in the elbow.

That was too visceral for the innocent mind of Reine. Reine’s cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, and she swallowed hard, feeling a knot in her stomach at the mere thought. She looked away, her eyes scanning the serene campus, trying to gather her thoughts. “I, I don’t know,” she stuttered, her voice barely audible. “It’s something I’ve never considered much. Now and then, sure, but I don’t sit around obsessed with it.” But as she said the words, a face popped into her mind, unbidden. It was the new PE teacher at the school, young, fit, and with a smile that could melt the sternest of hearts. She’d noticed him before, but always pushed the thoughts aside. “Hypothetically…”

Lyrou nodded. “Of course, hypothetically.”

“Maybe, just maybe, someone like our new gym coach.” She turned to face Lyrou, her eyes asking for approval, for understanding in her friend’s gaze.

Lyrou’s lips curled up as she recognized the seed of curiosity sprouting in her friend’s voice. “Ah, le professeur de sport,” she said, her French accent rolling off. “He’s quite the catch?” She took a sip of her green tea. “Imagine, Reine, the weight of him pounding against your body, the way he’d make you feel.” She watched as Reine’s eyes widened, the thought clearly taking hold. “That would be a deserved recess,” she added, her hand reaching out to stroke Reine’s arm. “It’s just a daydream, like your students do when you’re lecturing. A way to explore your desires without crossing any lines.” She leaned in closer. “Tell me, tell yourself… what would you do if you had the chance?”

Reine’s chest rose as she struggled to control her surging thoughts. “I, I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice shakier than before. “But I can’t, I couldn’t do that to Philip.” She paused, her gaze drifting to the distant horizon where the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky with hues of pink and orange. “But if I were to, hypothetically,” she said, trailing off. “What would you suggest?” Reine looked for guidance in these murky waters.

“Are you afraid to make the move with the whistle-blower? He’s too close to work and home; rumors could spread.” Lyrou problem-solved. “Then if I were you, I’d find a man of that specification online. It’s easy to set up a one-time fling. But, so that you don’t get caught the way Garin caught me, don’t post your face in the profile. If Philip looked for you on a sneaking suspicion, he could find you in cyberspace. Only share your face via private message. I mean, if you decided to do that, Reine,” Lyrou advised.

The reality of the situation was setting in. “I haven’t decided to, and I haven’t decided not to, Lyrou. It’s just, I’ve never done anything like that before.”

She clutched her coffee tightly, the warmth of the cup easing the coolness of her pale hands. “How do you even start?” she asked, her eyes wide with curiosity. “How do you find someone who’s discreet?” She took a sip, swallowed hard. “And what if I got caught?” The potential was heavy on her shoulders.

“If you get caught? Garin wanted to make it fair, even, and honest so that neither of us feels blind or deceived. Philip might, as you said, go nuts. That is why I hid it for so many years. I couldn’t predict how Garin would react once he knew, or how it would break his heart, or if I could accept what came next,” Lyrou recalled.

“You never told me how you started doing that. You didn’t take a night, Garin was on a work trip, and go to a dance club, and I mean, it’s not like I know.” Reine hoped Lyrou would remember it in detail so she might have some model of action.

“Ah? A club? Am I a bacchante? Once upon a previous lifetime.” Lyrou was amused.

“I don’t know, that’s how I imagined it happened for you, I guess.” Reine was embarrassed.

“My wicked journey began because men would approach me in public and flirt with me. I’d be flattered and then reject them without a second thought. Those adventuresome days were behind me; I meant that. But there was a time I was furious with Garin over a fight I shouldn’t bother with the details of now.” Lyrou’s face went a touch angry; her lips came together tight, her chin followed, her eyebrows lowered.

“No, please. What was it?” Reine wanted to know if it was anything comparable to her current spat with Philip, so as to know if it gave her, by precedent, similar liberty to do as Lyrou had done.

“I wanted to have a career and build myself. I wanted to make more of our big decisions. I wanted means, reputation, and accomplishment you can’t have sequestered in a suburb as an unpaid cleaning, cooking, chauffeuring, homework-checking, live-in maid, babysitter, and chef all in one. That would require compromises from Garin, which he wouldn’t begin to put on the table. I was furious. Truly.” Lyrou remembered with a long stare the one chapter in her relationship with Garin that she’d badly begrudged him. “I almost saw him as my enemy. No, not almost. In those days, I did see him as my enemy.”

“He won,” Reine added with a jaded smile.

“If he thought about it, then he must’ve thought he’d won,” Lyrou corrected her.

“Then what happened?” Reine’s curiosity demanded.

“It wasn’t the matter of what we fought over but the timing of it. I was rapidly feeling constrained in ennui and rolled over flat by my new circumstance, and Garin was willfully oblivious to it. Worse, he seemed happy that I was being pressed so quickly and inhumanly into this, this confining slogging languor all women feel when they’re newly married, new moms.”

Lyrou held her hands up in frustration. “It’s a sacrifice to be a woman; limited in purpose so that we can fulfill the most important purpose. A woman might have the best singular thing in life, creating and raising new life, relegated to the highest honor of birthing and raising a man’s heirs, but then little else of creating and raising her own life.”

Reine nodded. “I have my job, but I’m just as unable to raise my own life. All my salary goes into our baby and us, and when I told him that, he said that was my choice.”

Lyrou nodded. “He’s not wrong. It is your choice.”

Reine bit her lip. “He is, and I won’t forget he said it.”

“Garin said something that I can’t forget. It wasn’t like him, but he did say it. He said I should be thankful to him and try to shut up. He lost his temper, I know. But to cast me as an ingrate best gagged and muzzled, as if I’m an opulent trophy bimbo? No. On what planet?” Lyrou clasped her hands and looked heavenward. “That was my last straw. I hadn’t decided on any action to vent or retaliate, but I needed to do something small.”

Reine’s eyes were barely able to keep to her course ahead. “What did you do?”

Lyrou shook her head, an embarrassed smile forming. “By chance, at the mall, a creepy skinhead man scrawled over in runes, clomping about the upper concourse in black paratrooper boots, asked me for my phone number, even though I was pushing a stroller and I looked like a dysphoric, bloated, weary escaped hospital patient.” Lyrou paused, remembering it.

“Skinhead? Like?” Reine wondered.

Lyrou ran her hand over her head as if holding a razor. “All shaved down to stubble.”

Reine’s pace slowed. “What did you do?”

“I gave it to him just to spite Garin. It was symbolic. I hadn’t intended to take it a pinch further. The weirdo messaged. I blocked him, but he was so persistent that he found workarounds. Doubting how desirable I was, and with my confidence lessened after my first pregnancy, I liked the feeling of a gentleman hooligan not giving up to have me.” Lyrou shrugged. “I prolonged it for my enjoyment. I guessed he’d stop sending messages soon. But he sent message after message.” Lyrou silently held a finger out for each message the stranger sent until she was out of fingers.

“He was a super wacko.” Reine frowned.

“Yes. He was. But I allowed it, and so he kept messaging. Big things grow from small things, like saplings if you water them. Garin was gone with Alan for a night to see his mom in Clifton. She was ill, and he took our baby boy to see Grandma.”

“What was his mother ill with?” Reine cared.

“The wages of diabetes and corpulence. But he was supposed to meet an agent about our condo and almost canceled his visit, afraid of losing the closing with no time to spare. But I promised to stay behind to see the agent for him, even though my English wasn’t as proficient then.” Lyrou looked down at the track. “Alone, I agreed to meet my weirdo on a lark, and soon stopped seeing him as that. He became Richard to me. That was the first time I cheated on Garin.”

Reine nodded; it sounded like the purest Lyrou she’d heard. “I, I don’t know if I could handle that kind of risk, Lyrou. But I can’t deny that the thought of it is, it’s like a movie. How did you manage to keep it hidden for so long? And how do you find someone who’s… discreet?”

“By thoroughly erasing evidence and crafting alibis. Meet men who won’t want you to themselves, younger men who at their age can’t possibly wish for a real relationship, men from out of town, and always men who don’t know your husband and don’t know anybody who knows your husband.” Lyrou pulled back the curtain for Reine. “There is a whole sea of such men out there. When you so much as crack the door open, they flood in like a breached submarine hatch.”

“I can’t believe Philip wouldn’t know somehow.” Reine doubted herself.

“Somehow? If you provide him with the how, then of course he might put two and two together. Don’t give him the pieces to puzzle over.” Lyrou flipped her wrist at the obviousness of it.

“Don’t give myself away… then?” Reine followed the logic.

Lyrou nodded. “No counter-attitudinal lies.” She pointed, pulling from her own head canon of tips and tricks.

“No, what?” Reine listened closely.

“If the topic of interest in other men or affairs comes up, such as in a movie or celebrity news you’re watching together, or through some gossip, don’t object or deny it without him directly asking you first, and then don’t object or deny too strongly. You’ll look like a child standing by an emptied cookie jar with crumbs on her shirt, insisting you find cookies disgusting.” Lyrou held her hands up as if they were covered.

“That’s so smart, and manipulative.” Reine admired and condemned.

Lyrou shrugged. “To have the lives we want… by any means.”

“It’s just so scary,” Reine said, laughing and sipping nervously.

Lyrou was feeling the heat of the sun slowly giving way to the coolness of the evening. “Oui, chère amie. But fear is a part of the story, isn’t it? There’s a sweet spot between terror and ecstasy.”

She paused, watching the sun dip lower in the sky. “You don’t have to jump into the deep end. You might dip your toes in. If you were to do it, start with someone safe, someone who won’t complicate your life. Maybe a one-night stand with a man who travels for work, someone who will never cross your path again.” She leaned back, her hand settling on Reine’s arm.

Reine was quiet, eyes wide, for a moment. She thought of all that Lyrou had said, and the things that had come out of her own mouth. Then Lyrou took her hand, warm and reassuring. “You’re overwhelmed. Close the topic.”

Reine nodded. “Oh? Maybe. Yes. It’s so much to take in.”

Lyrou swung their hands gently with each step together. “And that’s just the tip.”

⚜

Noon Sunday, April 27th, 2025

Garin would go back alone to his hometown to visit his mother’s grave on her birthday each year since she died. Cicadas buzzing madly, he stood at the headstone, the sun warm against his face, a crisp spring breeze stirring the grass. The cemetery was solitary but for the brood. In his hands, he held a bouquet of lilies, their bright white petals speckled against the deep verdant palette of the graveyard.

His mother’s grave: a modest, smooth, flat black headstone, nothing special among the many crosses and obelisks on this softly rolling terrain. She’d been gone almost a decade now. It didn’t seem long ago to Garin.

He knelt, gently placing the flowers at the base of the stone. His breath caught as he thought about her, how she raised him alone, how she gave everything. His father gave them nothing. She was always busy. Garin hadn’t known as a little kid how especially busy she was compared to most moms, but when she was present, she was very present. Though she never complained to him, he knew now what a sacrifice it had been.

She’d wanted more. Having a child had closed so many doors, so many possibilities: going to university because of the time and tuition, getting remarried because men with options rarely choose single moms, and having friends and hobbies because she had to do double duty as a solo parent.

And yet she never made him feel it, that he owed her anything, or what keeping him had cost her. There was no bitterness in her eyes, just unconditional love. How she did it, how she made it look easy, all he could think now was how difficult it must have been in her shoes.

Wistfully, he thought that if she’d been healthier, she would’ve lived longer, and then he could’ve repaid her and given his mom a life without toil, stress, and dismay at opening bills. He clenched his fist over his heart.

He knelt there for a moment longer, his eyes tracing the deep letters engraved into the stone. His hands moved to his vest pocket, pulling out a small envelope. The glossy, recent school photos of his two children, his son with his missing-tooth smile and his daughter, who resembled her grandma in her eyes and mouth, were tucked inside. He slipped them into the bouquet, letting the flowers fold around them, giving her a glimpse of how they looked now, how they’d grown. An undulating sigh escaped him as he straightened up. He took a last look at her grave, then turned to leave.

⚜

Evening Monday, April 28th, 2025

Garin lay sleeping beside Lyrou. She was up and on her phone. Enough social media shorts. She had let a day pass and gave it some thought before she began her search. She decided this time she didn’t worry who Garin might find, or what would come of it. She let that concern go because it was too encumbering this time. Instead, she’d give this round her full intent, as she’d set the rules herself at Garin’s request.

She allowed her reason to rule now, the scary fact that her heart would never weigh, but now her mind would for this singular task, which was that Garin could not possibly be the only man on Earth, the best man on Earth, for her true love. This would be the first time she’d meet a man for more than a fling, but rather she’d meet a man on the premise that this was to be her soulmate she was looking for. Her husband, Garin, as it turned out, wasn’t the one.

At least that would be the game, and she’d play the role sincerely. She searched the profiles on the dating app so deftly, her chest full of trepidation. She’d never taken the idea of finding another man this seriously before, but now the hunt had changed.

She swiped through pictures of men and read their details, looking for something she hadn’t quite identified yet. Her fingers hovered over the screen, contradictory thoughts of what she wanted, what she needed.

She stared at a few who almost had it, but didn’t have the it she was looking for. Then she found a man, a handsome golden-skinned man with a gentle smile and soul-piercing, angular blue eyes set over pronounced, zygomatically wide cheekbones. Marc. His profile spoke of adventure, of living each day to the fullest, and a love for the French language. He’d been a male model in Paris as a college boy, and he’d never married.

She twirled her hair around her finger and smiled as if he were there then. “Hello,” she typed, her voice in her mind sounding shy and hopeful. “Je suis Lyrou, et je suis à la recherche d’une aventure. Voulez-vous me parler?” (I’m Lyrou, and I’m looking for an adventure. Would you like to talk with me?) She hit send, her stomach fluttering with nerves.

Marc was about to unlock his bicycle for a late ride home when his phone notification dinged, the distinctive chime of the dating app catching his attention. He’d been feeling a bit lonely, and the idea of a beautiful, exotic woman reaching out to him was too tempting to resist. He read her message, laughing with admiration at her French. He replied in kind, his thumbs flying over the screen keypad. “Bonjour, Lyrou. Je suis Marc. Je serai ravi de discuter.” (Hello, Lyrou. I’m Marc. I would be delighted to chat.)

Lyrou’s fists momentarily clenched when she saw his message. Marc’s response in French was a charming surprise. A strange sense of comfort in their shared language, a bond that defined their digital encounter at its outset. As her eyes scanned through his profile again, her thoughts tumbled over themselves. “Merci,” she replied, typing as she let out a soft sigh. “J’ai le sentiment que notre chemin devrait se croiser. Qu’est-ce qui t’a mené à la recherche d’une aventure?” (I have the feeling that our paths should cross. What led you to search for an adventure?)

Marc was as if struck by a bolt at her message. She was a reminder of his youth spent in the City of Lights. He took a moment to compose his thoughts before responding. “Lyrou, tu es très intrigante. Je suis à la recherche d’une connexion authentique, une femme qui peut me comprendre et partager ma passion pour la vie. Qu’est-ce qui t’a poussée à chercher toi-même?” (Lyrou, you’re so intriguing. I’m looking for a genuine connection, a woman who can understand me and share my passion for life. What made you start looking yourself?) He sent the message, his pulse quickening as he awaited her response.

Lyrou’s neurons fired up with the story she’d weave. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She typed, her voice in her mind sounding earnest. “Mon chemin est compliqué. Je suis actuellement dans une relation qui manque de passion, et je suis à la croisée des chemins. Je suis prête à tout changer pour trouver l’amour de ma vie.” (My path is complicated. I’m currently in a relationship that lacks passion, and I’m at a crossroads. I’m ready to change everything to find the love of my life.) She hit send.

Marc lit up at the possibility of a new chapter in his East Coast story, though he felt disappointment in himself for knowingly talking to a married woman. In these earliest of minutes, her words were too much to turn his back on. He happily replied: “Je suis navré d’entendre parler de ta situation. Mais qu’est-ce qui te manque exactement? Quand une personne parle de tout changer, il y a toujours une raison.” (I’m sorry to hear about your situation. But what exactly is missing? When a person talks about changing everything, there is always a reason.)

On the screen, her words hanging in the digital space between them, the deceit quickened her pulse. This was the line she had to cross, and she was ready. She typed her response. “Oui, je suis certaine. Je suis prête à tout pour trouver l’amour de ma vie.” (Yes, I’m certain. I’m ready to do anything to find the love of my life.) She hit send, her lips popping open and apart with hope.

Marc got a rush reading her message. The thought of a beautiful, married woman looking for something more in him was both arousing and bittersweet. He knew there’d be risks, but the allure was too strong. He replied with his words of assurance: “Ton message me remplit de joie et de tristesse à la fois. Ton message me touche. Mais je préfère comprendre une personne avant de lui promettre quoi que ce soit. Dis-moi, qu’est-ce qui t’a manqué dans ta vie, et peut-être que je suis l’homme qui peut tout changer pour toi?” (Your message fills me with joy and sadness at the same time. It moves me. But I prefer to understand a person before promising anything. Tell me, what has been missing from your life, and perhaps I’m the man who can change everything for you?) Send? Oui, send.

The screen lit her face, iridescent. She typed: “Il me manque un nouveau départ avec quelqu’un qui ne soit pas tourmenté par son amour pour moi, mais qui se considère comme un homme béni d’avoir fait ma connaissance, et je souhaite ressentir la même chose pour lui.” (What I’m missing is a fresh start with someone who is not tormented by his love for me, but who considers himself blessed to have made my acquaintance, and I wish to feel the same way about him.) She hit send.

Marc flinched with a twinge of wrongness as he read Lyrou’s message. Her honesty was refreshing, but the gravity of her situation couldn’t be ignored. He took a moment to consider his response, his eyes reviewing her profile. He decided to be equally honest. “Je suis flatté par ta confiance en moi. Je suis un homme qui respecte les engagements. Est-ce que ton mariage est réellement terminé dans ton cœur? Est-ce que tu es sûre de ne plus aimer ton mari?” (I’m flattered by your trust in me. I’m a man who respects commitments. Is your marriage truly over in your heart? Are you sure you no longer love your husband?)

The screen’s power was hypnotic, her body shaking lightly with the reality of her words. Twirling her hair unconsciously, she was playing with this man on the other side of the internet, and he was too much to resist. “L’amour n’est pas une compétition, c’est une connexion profonde. Je suis sûre que je suis prête à tout changer pour trouver la vraie passion.” (Love is not a competition; it is a deep connection. I’m sure that I’m ready to change everything to find true passion.) She sent the message.

Marc thought fast. Comedy shows had a way of bringing people together, breaking down barriers, and allowing true connections to form. He decided to be bold and make a move. He typed, his thumbs moving with purpose over the screen. “Pourquoi ne pas commencer notre aventure par un rire ensemble? Il y a une comédie française à venir qui a l’air très amusante. Je me dis qu’un bon fou rire est souvent un meilleur début qu’un grand discours.” (Why not begin our adventure with a laugh together? There is a French comedy coming up that looks very amusing. I think a good fit of laughter is often a better beginning than a grand speech.)

He sent his message. The message. For Lyrou, there was only the message. Marc had suggested a date to a French-themed comedy show, and she couldn’t help her genuine interest. The idea of sharing a cultural experience with him, of laughing together and connecting over her heritage, was incredibly appealing. She typed back quickly, her eyes shining. “C’est une excellente idée! Je suis très curieuse de savoir à quoi ce spectacle pourrait me ramener. Est-ce que c’est une comédie romantique ou une comédie de situation?” (That is an excellent idea! I’m very curious to know what this show might bring me back to. Is it a romantic comedy or a situational comedy?) She hit send.

Marc knew that he had to be careful not to let his feelings carry him away, but their shared connection was strong this early. “C’est une comédie de situation, pleine de quiproquos et de rires. Je suis sûr que notre soirée ensemble apportera une bouffée d’air frais à ta vie.” (It is a situational comedy, full of misunderstandings and laughter. I’m sure our evening together will bring a breath of fresh air into your life.) He sent the message, his thoughts already ahead on their date and how he’d prepare for it.

His reply couldn’t come quickly enough for her. She’d never felt this way about a man upon first communication before. However much better Garin had gotten at seeing her, it was just the truth that it had taken him time and work. Marc was different; he made her feel seen in a way that Garin didn’t on their first interaction. “J’ai hâte de passer une soirée inoubliable à tes côtés. Est-ce que tu pourrais venir me chercher à la dernière station de la ligne verte du métro?” (I can’t wait to spend an unforgettable evening by your side. Could you pick me up at the last station on the Green Line?) She hit send, her stomach flipping with nerves.

Marc received a surge of energy as he read Lyrou’s message. He knew he was playing with matches, but the heat of it all was drowning his body and brain in testosterone. He took a moment to compose his response, his eyes wide. “Je serai ravi de te retrouver à la station le vendredi 9 mai. Je suis impatient de te rencontrer dans la vraie vie et de commencer notre aventure ensemble. D’ici là, nous pouvons discuter et apprendre à nous connaître dans cet espace numérique.” (I’ll be delighted to meet you at the station on Friday, May 9. I’m eager to meet you in real life and begin our adventure together. Until then, we can talk and get to know each other in this digital space.)

Lyrou was at the pivotal moment, a point of no return. She took a minute, then typed her response. “Je respecte le temps qu’on prend pour discuter, et j’ai hâte de te rencontrer en personne.” (I respect the time we’re taking to talk, and I can’t wait to meet you in person.)

Lyrou tossed her phone aside, slipped her panties off, and spread her legs, resting a knee against Garin’s slumbering back. She started with her clit, rubbing softly around it. It swelled and hardened under her fingertips. She stimulated her breasts with her left hand, imagining that her hand was this new man’s. She imagined this new man looking at her, wanting her, choosing her, making her so central to his world. She replayed the conversation they’d just had again and again. She closed her eyes and pictured the new flame pulling off his shirt to reveal a lean, toned chest and abdomen. Then she began dipping her fingers in, curved up into her G-spot. First one finger, and then a second. This new man’s handsome face was clear on the back of her eyelids, and she imagined him descending on her, kissing her neck and mouth.

Lyrou pressed harder and faster, giving herself the full digital pleasure. Her first lover, her hand, mashed into her groin, as she mentally manifested this newest, as-yet-unconsummated lover in her mind. Yes, she was going to fuck him. That she decided then. And with that, she orgasmed, rolling her face over into her pillow to muffle her moans.

Her husband, beside her, hadn’t stirred a second.

⚜

Noon Tuesday, April 29th, 2025

Garin, on the other hand, would not use the fling app that Lyrou had become so reliant on. Sure, it was convenient, and that was the problem. He much preferred to find his lover in the flesh, with footwork in the real world, naturally.

What’s more, he was sure that he could find his ultimate woman by just the same method. His faith in his luck, his knack, his skill, his destiny, whatever it was, maybe all wrapped together, was solid and proved well-founded. If it wasn’t, then he would like to make it so. He was riding the public bus during the workday to go to the office of a client. He’d need to be there to show his face and talk his talk, and he wasn’t thinking about Lyrou or their game at that moment.

But then, onto the bus came a truly stunning woman. Dressed litigiously in grey, she looked to be in her 30s, short in stature, Middle Eastern in appearance, dark with melanin, and not visibly religious, such as with a headscarf or hijab. A modest but high bustline, slender shoulders, and soft, rounded saddles at her outer hips in a proportion rare and perfect.

Her eyes met his even before she could take a seat. As the bus started back up, she carefully strolled down the aisle closer and closer to Garin, looking away only to lock eyes again and again. Huge, almond-shaped, dark-brown eyes under arched eyebrows and framed by long eyelashes. Garin didn’t look away once. She stopped and took hold of a rail to keep her balance as the bus rocked and swayed.

Garin had an idea. He took out his phone and threw it at her feet. “Oh, hell,” Garin expressed, reaching for his phone with his foot stretched out from his seat in a humiliating pose, feigning that he accidentally tapped her foot with his. “Sorry, sorry.”

Unsure if he was playing a fool, the pretty lady gave him a look of disbelief. She bent to pick it up, and he rushed to bend also. Crouched together, she handed it back to him, and they stood together, Garin offering his hand to help her balance, which she took. “Awww nooo,” Garin put on an act that he couldn’t turn his phone back on, as though it had broken. “Noooo, come on.”

She looked at him, concerned and sympathetic. She searched Garin’s eyes, her own dark orbs filled with curiosity and a hint of amusement. “Mine does that too after a hard drop,” she said with a smile, her voice lilting. “Maybe it’s just a temporary issue.”

“My life is a temporary issue,” Garin said with overwrought grief.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she offered, her smile growing wider.

“Well, I was using my phone for maps so I could find the building I’m headed to. Might I use yours to show me where I need to get off the bus?” He held his hand out.

“Um, of course. Let me just, I’d be happy to help,” she said, low and uncertain, holding out her phone to him. “What’s your destination?”

“Oh, let me see here. I don’t have the address memorized. I can just call the guy.” Garin helped himself to her phone and, with rapid fingers, punched in a phone number. “Speaker phone on? Hope he answers…” She watched curiously as he dialed the number and held the phone to his ear.

Her heart quickened when she heard his phone ring in his pocket. She couldn’t help but smile. “Are you serious?” she said, filled with feigned upset, giving way to a giggle.

Garin held his finger up to hush her, just about touching her lip with the tip of his index finger. “Let me take this.” And he answered his own phone, “Hello? Where are you?”

She gave him a light slap on the arm and pried her phone back from him, letting out a loud, cute laugh. Passengers watched the little scene they were making, cocking their heads like pups. “Very tricky, Mr…?” she trailed off, waiting for him to fill in the blank.

“Garin. What is your name, resplendent public transit woman?” he asked loudly enough that the bus driver looked in his mirror at them.

A playful smile formed on her refined lips. “Amina,” she replied, her voice so sweet.

“Amina. I hate it that I’m working. And making a lot of money doing it, mind you. But I’m free in an hour. When you answer my call, then I’m going to tell you about our first date. You’ll have to wonder just a little longer,” Garin explained.

A spark of interest ignited in her. “A date?” she said, surprised and delighted. “You’re quite something, aren’t you?”

She couldn’t help but feel a flutter in her stomach at the thought of spending time with this character of a stranger. “Of course. I’ll pick you up in my bus, and we’ll see all the stops.” Garin held his arm out at the city passing by outside the window as if it were his enchanted kingdom.

Amina couldn’t help but laugh at Garin’s cheeky response. She turned her face away, embarrassed, forming subtle creases in her gracile neckline. His playfulness was infectious, and she found herself gobsmacked by the sudden turn in her day. “I see,” she said, her smile growing. “Well, I’ll make sure to be ready for my bus ride, Garin. Should I bring my pass?”

Garin moved to exit the bus, having arrived at his stop. “I’ve got the full-access, ride-all-year, bring-a-gorgeous-friend pass.”

He disembarked, and she waved her fingers at him as he ran through a crosswalk in its last second, getting honked at by a car that had meant to go before he darted into its path. She gasped and crossed the bus aisle to see from the window that he’d made it across the street. Making it to the other side, he gave a final wave, a big smile, and stood with his hands on his waist. A smooth dork. Smitten.

⚜

Afternoon Wednesday, April 30th, 2025

Lyrou and Reine walked that same track they had recently. There was no other small talk this time. With urgency, Reine had to ask Lyrou now if she was ever going to ask. “Can you help me, just to see?” Reine said, not believing her own mouth.

Lyrou wondered at Reine’s motive. “Is this all to punish him? Really?”

Reine thought, then answered, “No. That would be stupid. It’s not about him.”

“How?” Lyrou wanted her explicit request. “Could you make a profile for me on the Fling app you use?” Reine left no ambiguity about what she wanted.

Lyrou took a sip of her coffee, now cool, contemplating the request. “Reine, chère,” she said in warning. “This is a big step. Are you sure you’re ready?”

“I’m not 100% sure. Should I sleep on it?” Reine eyed the off-ramp.

Lyrou raised an eyebrow. “You could, and you will talk yourself out of it. In the night, some sleep on it, and others bounce on it.”

Reine suppressed a laugh. “Bounce on…? Oh my goodness.”

Lyrou smiled along. “Oui, my goodness and goodness me.”

“What is it to make a dumb profile? Doesn’t everyone have one?” Reine held her phone at the ready.

“Send me the pictures of you that you want me to put out as bait for the fish, and we’ll see who responds.” Lyrou slowly prepared her own phone.

Reine’s pulse quickened at the thought. Fearful, sinful, and good. “OK? OK.”

She stopped and tapped on her phone, scrolling through her pictures. She found a few that she thought were flattering but not too revealing.

She sent them to Lyrou with trembling fingers. “Here, can we use these?” she asked.

She watched as Lyrou studied the images. “Just remember,” she added, trying to sound more confident than she was, “If I do this, whatever this is, I want this to be isolated. No one from around here.” Reine watched as Lyrou expertly placed a digital rose over the lower half of her face in each picture.

Lyrou explained, “A cute shopped-in mask, covering enough so facial-recognition bots won’t nab you up. I’ll set it so that you don’t show up in results for anybody in this area. You’ll use the handle ‘RedlikeRoses.’ Don’t you love the alliteration? There’s an entire fandom of men with artichoke hearts who drool for redheads.” Lyrou glanced up from her phone to look at Reine’s hair; coronated.

Reine filled with gratitude and nerves, and a diabolical concupiscence. “What tutelage in artifice. Merci.” She thought about how her friend had both her best and worst interests at heart, but the certainty of what she was about to embark on was setting in. “But what if, what if I’m not as adept at hiding it as my provocateur?” The fear of getting caught, of losing everything she’d built with Philip, was an invisible angel perched on her shoulder, impotently wresting the phone from her, prying at it to no avail. “What if it all falls apart?” Her grip on her phone tightened. “How can I be sure I won’t get caught? This is crazy.”

“You can’t be sure. Accept it. And no need to thank me. Helping you be crazy is keeping my crazy off Garin right now,” Lyrou confessed.

The fear and dissonance spilled out of Reine. “I probably don’t have the guts to actually do it, though. And it solves absolutely nothing. Nothing. It doesn’t begin to fix Philip’s secrecy or give me rightful control of our finances or help me trust him going forward or…”

“Why is that your problem to solve? It was Philip’s glass that Philip spilled, and he should be the one to do the wiping up. Nothing is fixed; it’s balanced. His secrecy gives permit to yours.” Thus spake Lyrou.

“Balance?” Reine understood.

The smile on Lyrou’s lips faded a little. “Reine, chère, you don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. There’s no compulsion in this discipline. No worry if you’re living up to anyone else’s expectations.” Lyrou completed Reine’s fling profile page. “It’s best to log into the site on the browser so that if Philip does access your phone, he won’t see the app. I texted you your login username and password. I also used a throwaway email address to confirm the account, and I sent you the login credentials for that also. You should commit it to memory and then delete it all before you get home, but I’ll keep it in my phone if you need reminding. Try logging in now.” Lyrou had the air of a professional.

Reine sighed, her heart thumping as she unlocked her phone and opened the text from Lyrou. “I don’t think I can; do I have your répertoire or your revendication?” She shook, her phone jittering in her fingers.

Lyrou winced. “Up to this moment, you’ve done nothing.”

Reine then resolved not to do “nothing”; she’d for sure do something. The login details were there, taunting her with the promise of a world she’d only ever fantasized about. She copied the information into her notes, her hands shaking slightly. With unsteady fingers, she opened the fling site and logged in. The screen was a blur of faces and messages, a veritable buffet of temptation laid out before her. She scanned the messages, her eyes widening at the direct explicitness of the first batch. “Wow, that was fast.” Her voice was full of shock and awe. “And lascivious innuendo. Gosh, look at that. ‘Do the curtains match the drapes?’ within the first 120 seconds.” Reine hissed, giving Lyrou an eye roll. “What do I do with this feeding frenzy flock of fuckers now?”

“You ignore most, choose one, if you like, to message back. Chat a bit, then if you still want it, meet him. Simple.” Lyrou made it seem like online shopping, Reine thought.

Her eyes were wide open and darting across the screen, feeling excitement and dread. She read through the messages, her heart calming. This wasn’t so bad, she thought. Most were crass and unappealing, but there was one that stood out. It was from a man who introduced himself as Alexander, a traveling businessman in town for a few days. His message was polite, with a hint of charm that reminded her of dates she’d been on before she met Philip. She screenshotted his message and sent it to Lyrou. “What do you think of this one?”

“Put a whistle on him, and he could be your gym coach,” Lyrou teased.

The fear slowly morphed into a calmer sort of excitement. Reine couldn’t believe she was actually considering this. She read the message from Alexander again, then again.

“OK,” she said, shaking slightly. “OK. Yes. I’ll message him.” She focused and typed out a simple response, trying to match the tone of his message. “Hi, I’m Red. It’s nice to meet you, Alexander.” Reine hit send.

⚜