Wrong Name

I said "I love you" to my new boyfriend. Then I called him by my ex's name.

His name is Ben. He's kind. He's the kind of guy who remembers your oat milk order and puts it in his Notes app. He's the kind who texts "home safe?" and means it. Honestly, the dream.

I've been seeing him for three months. We're at the stage where he leaves a toothbrush at mine and I pretend not to notice. We watch films with my feet in his lap. I laugh at his bad puns.

Last night we were lying in the dark, my head on his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear. The room was warm. The streetlight made orange stripes on the ceiling. It was the quietest, safest moment I've had in over a year.

And I whispered, "I love you, Max."

Max. My ex. The one I thought I'd deleted from my personality.

I felt Ben go still. Not angry. Not shocked. Just... still.

I sat up. "Oh my God. Ben, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—"

"It's okay," he said gently.

"It's NOT okay."

"It's okay," he repeated. "I've seen you check your phone every time it buzzes. I've seen you pause at songs. I figured."

I stared at him.

"I'm not mad," he said. "I'm just waiting."

He's been waiting for me to finish the last chapter.

And I've been dating him in the margins.