Not Complicated

Not Complicated by Eve Summers


Facebook is weird. It lets you list your favorite movies (Casablanca) and music (Snow Patrol) and books (Joshilyn Jackson), it shows updates about your day (another late night at the office, Christopher was asleep by the time I got home), and yet it fails to capture the very essence that makes you - you.

Growing up, I wore homemade clothes because my parents couldn’t afford labels or even store-bought dresses. It made me feel inferior, but also loved beyond belief, because every garment I wore had been lovingly designed, cut and sewn by my mom. Where do I write that on Facebook?

My short-term goal is to work saner hours, my dream is for my son to get to know his dad, and my secret fantasy involves a happily-ever-after with Luke. Facebook remains totally oblivious of all that.

I choose not to confirm Luke as a friend. A Facebook friendship would be so much less than what we once had.

That leaves me one option: I have to go to the reunion.

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