Page 131 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

“Same,” Kent replied. “See you around.”

They exchanged a quick handshake. Kent glanced at me one last time and gave a small nod.

Victor turned back to me like nothing had shifted.

“Let’s go,” he said, gesturing toward the parking lot.

And we walked the rest of the way in silence—close enough that our shoulders almost touched again.

Almost.

The next day, we were in a grocery store, picking up essentials together—like husband and husband.

Victor pushed the cart, one hand resting lazily on the handle as he steered through the aisle like he had done this a hundred times before.

Maybe he had… just not with me.

I walked beside him, occasionally reaching out to grab things we didn’t really need, so it could feel like I belonged in the moment.

“Do you still get the same coffee?” he asked, glancing at the shelf.

“I don’t drink coffee,” I said, catching him off guard.

Then he huffed a small laugh. “I know.”

“Then why ask?”

“Just checking if you’ve grown.”

“I haven’t,” I said.

He glanced at me briefly, a half-smile forming like it was nothing.

“I can tell.”

I let out a small laugh, like it was a joke.

Even though something in me flinched.

It probably was a joke to him, and an insult to me. But I didn’t find the courage to inquire further. So, I held my tongue.

And then it was easy again.

We moved through the aisles, brushing shoulders, sharing small comments, falling into a rhythm that felt normal.

Home, even.

But somewhere between the cereal and the cleaning supplies, a thought came in uninvited.

I picked up a random item that I didn’t even need, turning it over in my hands just to have something to do.

“Hey,” I said.

He didn’t look at me right away. “Yeah?”

I swallowed, trying to make it sound casual. “When we weren’t talking…” That was as far as I got before I felt it.

That shift.