A Real Story

Six weeks after my engagement fell apart, I downloaded one of those apps built specifically for hookups — the kind where you can set your profile to disappear after an hour so nobody’s boss finds it. I wasn’t trying to date. I wanted proof that someone besides my ex would still text me back. Within two days I matched with a guy who managed a climbing gym, funny in a deadpan way, and we agreed on no names, no backstory, just come over after 9. I remember standing in his kitchen while he microwaved leftover pad thai like it was a normal Tuesday and thinking, this is either the least romantic or most honest thing I’ve done in years.

The night itself was fine, forgettable in the way it was supposed to be. What I didn’t expect was waking up at 6 a.m. to find his retainer sitting on my nightstand like some kind of accidental keepsake, and him gone to open the gym without leaving a number. I laughed alone in my apartment holding a stranger’s orthodontic device, and something about that image cracked me open more than any breakup conversation had.

I’d gone into it assuming casual meant simple, but it turns out casual still requires you to say the quiet part — what you want, what you don’t, when you’re leaving. We’d skipped all of that because neither of us wanted to seem needy, and we ended up with a mildly chaotic non-goodbye instead of a clean one. I mailed the retainer back to the gym with a sticky note that just said ‘you left this,’ and never heard anything, which felt right.

What stuck with me wasn’t the hookup itself but how much smoother it would’ve gone with one honest sentence beforehand: ‘I want this to be casual, and I’ll tell you if that changes.’ Now if I use those apps at all, I say that upfront, out loud, before anyone’s shoes come off. Saves everyone a retainer-shaped mystery in the morning.