Page 41 of Hex Appeal

“Doesn't matter,” Valerie says. “We're against Kevin.”

“Thank you for your support.”

Jessie holds up the napkin.

“Kevin spent two hours explaining cryptocurrency to me.”

“Burn it,” I say.

“I told him three times that I wasn't interested.”

“Burn it,” Pam repeats.

“He also corrected me when I pronounced the name of the wine I ordered.”

Valerie points toward the fire. “Why is it not burning yet?”

Laughing, Jessie steps closer.

I stop her before she can throw it in.

“Wait. You have to say what you're releasing.”

“Oh.” She considers that. “Men who think a date is an invitation to give me a TED Talk?”

We all cheer.

“Good enough.”

She tosses the napkin.

It catches almost immediately.

Jessie watches it curl into ash.

“To better dates,” I say, lifting my glass.

“And better men,” Pam adds.

“I'll drink to that.”

We do.

Pam goes next.

Then another friend.

Soon we're laughing and shouting encouragement while scraps of paper, old photographs, and reminders of terrible romantic decisions disappear into the flames.

It's silly.

It's also not.

Because every time someone names the thing she's ready to leave behind, something changes.

Maybe only in her.

But that's the kind of magic I believe in.