The last item in the truck was a chair. Enormous. Ugly. Uncomfortable. A relic of his previous relationship I’d asked him to leave behind. My home rejected it, too. He said, “It’s the angle. Let’s try trading places and moving it diagonally.” These instructions recalled how he suggested position changes in the middle of sex: Let’s try me lying down, you facing my feet. Let’s try standing, you bent over the bathroom counter. I did as he instructed. He pushed and grunted. We came to the same impasse. He said, “Fine. You win.” I sure didn’t feel like a winner.
