two unknown callers.
there we were. here we are.
My husband, Evan, too often humors me with “watching one more episode” or being lazy for no other reason than wanting to. I don’t think he’s wired that way, but he finds me and my ways endearing enough to entertain my cravings for laziness. (I LOVE BEING LAZY.)
Nine years ago, before having a kid, during a time when we lived in Bozeman, when I was working a ton as an art director at an advertising agency and he was working a ton as a server whilst also going to nursing school, we were being lazy on a Saturday that could have been adventurous or productive. I laid on the couch with my legs over Evan, sitting upright. The day was sunny outside, you could almost hear birds singing like sirens, asking us to come outside, but we liked the coolness and calmness of being inside together. We promised each other we would do laundry together as soon as this episode of The People Vs. OJ Simpson was finished.
Evan’s phone rang—a number he didn’t recognize.
“Don’t answer that.”
We were coming off an election season and are apparently also prime targets for “refinancing your debt,” though we’ve never had anything more than a bit of early-20s credit card debt and minor student loan debt. Still, this was the beginning of the spam-call era we’re all still living in.
Evan silenced the ringer and then looked to his phone again a few minutes later.
“Huh. They left a voicemail,” he said.
Then my phone rang. Another unknown number.
“What is going on? Should I answer this?”
“Yeah, answer it. I’m going to listen to this voicemail.”
I answered the phone. I watched Evan listen to his voicemail and immediately look down, earnestly listening. The other end of my phone was loud with a chipper, yet concerned voice.
“Hi, Rachel. This is Greg; I’m the general manager of the Bozeman Jimmy John’s. I wanted to speak to you about your recent experience with our delivery.”
I had ordered Jimmy John’s. Actually, I did that about once a week. Not that I have to justify myself, but I spent so much time at the office and ordering lunch with my phone and then having a sandwich and chips delivered to my desk twenty minutes later just feel like so. much. winning.
But this one day, it took 45 minutes. And then they forgot my Jalapeño chips!
One co-worker saw the situation go down and said, “Oh, man. Someone is in trouble. I know how much you love those chips.”
What I believe is a right of passage into Karen-hood that I never wanted any part of, I wrote an email to the Jimmy John’s customer service. I hate that last sentence. And there was no turning back.
But here we were: Greg and I, talking it out. He apologized profusely as I—mortified—assured him over and over that it was okay. I told Greg I just had a bad day. I told him it really was okay. If Greg had access to the frequency of my ordering from his store, we both knew I would continue to be a repeat upon repeat customer, no matter what.
When Greg was getting to the $5.99 coupon he was going to give me, I saw Evan’s face looking at me wide-eyed and half-smiling. I hurried Greg up as much as I could, wanting to get to Evan’s voicemail.
I finally hung up and Evan immediately said, “Guess who called me.”
“Who!”
“Zeryn.”
Zeryn. Goddammit. Zeryn1.
I have this fun (read: dysfunctional) bit where I don’t refer to any of Evan’s exes by their names. “Zeryn” is only referred to as “Weird Name Chick” by me. There’s also “Old Chick” and “Earth Mama.” These three are the only ones who get nicknames, because these women’s’ relationships with my husband need to be trivialized, so that I don’t—god forbid—feel lesser in any regard by their genuine connections.
But “Weird Name Chick” had the deepest connection with Evan. Zeryn.
Evan and I met as we were both coming off of heartbreaks. Zeryn’s was his. Mine was also just a rough heartbreak. Strategically, in the business of love, we were each other’s rebounds. But, with hesitant hearts and wounded souls, we soldiered on. We constantly reiterated that this probably wasn’t going anywhere. We both knew that we were finding loving comfort in each other, but we weren’t ready to give our hearts fully away again—or that there wasn’t a full heart to give and we didn’t think the other deserved such a raw deal.
A year and a half after Evan and I were together, Zeryn and my ex-boyfriend both got engaged (obviously to other people, this isn’t a Cameron Diaz rom-com).
We’d hate to admit it, but both Evan and I mourned something that week. There was no closure in either of our heartbreaks and—apparently—there didn’t ever need to be any to our former partners.
Evan’s beautiful ex was an artist of depth, who quickly found companionship with a friend of Evan’s after their split. Evan found this out—in the worst way—on a trip back to Oregon.
My beautiful ex was a man of complexity who found a quick finish in us after a long, impassioned discussion of our goals proved to take us separate ways. I always thought we’d land somewhere else—together. Then we were in a land of zero communication and I was in a room of pain, wondering if our relationship actually happened.
Evan and I both moved past this pain and moved in to each other’s hearts. Seven years later, we found ourselves more in love with each other—and with anyone!—than ever. We found ourselves married. We found ourselves here. Sitting on this couch, in this home we’ve made together, and Evan is asking me if I want to listen to a voicemail from Zeryn. She is no other name than Zeryn. She is not trivialized anymore. She is here, on his phone.
“Fuck yes, I want to listen to it!”
He put his phone on speaker phone and pushed play.
The way she said, “Hey Evan, it’s Zeryn” and then just moved on already breaks my heart. Of course there wouldn’t be a last name or a descriptor, but I wished deeply there was a glint of unfamiliarity.
She continued, “I am taking a class about better communicating…”
She went on to talk about what a great boyfriend Evan was and how much he meant to her. She breezed over these details quickly, but I will return to them time after time, I knew already.
Then she paused and obviously choked up a bit as she says, “I wanted to apologize for the childish maturity I had through our break-up. You didn’t deserve that and I regret the way I handled everything. I am sad to have lost your friendship.”
As she continued, I—in a huge sign of maturity—added my commentary to her message in the way Lil Jon adds commentary to rap songs.
“Yeah, ya do!” “Bet you are!” “Your loss!”
And then she ended her message with a nod to me by saying, “From the looks of social media, it looks like you’re so happy and completely in love. Please call me back. I would love to catch up and apologize to you in person… well, not really in person, but you know. Okay, bye.”
I locked eyes with Evan.
After a couple beats of silence, I said, “Wow.”
“Yeah, right?”
A couple more heavy moments moved on before I—with an air of importance—asked, “Yeah, but did you hear who I was on the phone with?”
Evan smiled, “I did. Jimmy John’s, huh?”
We laughed hard, harder than we should’ve. I teared up, shaking my head, while still laughing, putting my hands over my face. Here was my husband, getting a phone call from his beautiful ex, waxing poetic about her emotions and her growth through life. And there there was HIS WIFE… who COMPLAINED ABOUT HER MISSING JIMMY JOHN’S CHIPS. Jesus Christ. How could Evan be okay with the decisions he made in life to lead him to this place? This situation? It feels poetic, but in a messed up Robert Frost kind of way:
In life, there were two women and I—
I chose the one who asked to talk to the manager at Jimmy John’s,
And that has made all the difference.
“Are you going to call her back?”
I asked this while already trying to find her on Instagram.
“I don’t know. Probably.”
“Why?”
“She put herself out there. I don’t want to leave her hanging.”
This is what I love most about Evan. He has never ever let me hang out there by myself. He has never ever let me feel foolishly bold or regrettably broken. But every other man in my life has. And I am not married to any of those men. I am married to this man. So part of me feels as though he should leave her in the cold as I have been left in the cold by Mine.
I found her Instagram profile and scrolled through her art, immediately jealous. She was an artist. A real artist, who creates amazing paintings and mixed-media. I was an advertising artist.
And as Evan hugged my knees still over his lap, I scrolled through her Instagram and expressed every single jealous talking point. He asked
“Are you actually jealous of her?”
I didn’t hesitate, because I knew the truth, “Yes. I am. She has figured out self-expression in the way of painting. She is the kind of artist I want to be. And she is self-aware and confident enough to call you and eloquently express her feelings to you.”
The conversation went towards trust and how much we believe each other and believe in each other and through wandering conversation, I found what I meant by my “yes.” I figured out I wasn’t any more jealous of Zeryn than I was of any beautiful, talented artist I stalk on the internet.
“I guess I’m just jealous of you. I’m jealous you get this closure.”
Evan nodded and pulled my wrist towards him, so that my body followed and pivoted, ending up bundled on his lap, his arms around me. Evan’s love and compassion does not stop at me.
I am jealous of Zeryn for having this kind of ex-love, who shows compassion no matter what.
I am jealous of Evan for having this kind of ex-love, who is apologizing for the pain they caused.
I am jealous of Evan for being just a better breed of love.
But I reigned in all jealousy to find what I have and thank all aspects of the Universe. I have him. I have Evan. Though his compassion and love are endless, his heart is mine. Though I am insecure and fragile, my heart is his.
I am thankful. I am thankful every day, even in this day that is nine years later. I am thankful for Evan’s patience with me and with our daughter. I am thankful I bred with a different breed of love and now I get to watch my daughter find the empathy in her so naturally, because it flows through her veins. Though sometimes it has to fight with the Karen-leaning genetics she also has in there.
I am thankful for all of this.
And I’m thankful for the $5.99 Jimmy John’s refunded me. I do love those chips.
Quick Hits:
Jam of the Week: Bartees Strange – Wants Needs.
(yesssss… this song slaps so hard. cannot WAIT for this Valentine’s treat of a full Bartees Strange album.)
An Artist Mom Reminding Me Dreams Don’t Have Deadlines.
(Katherine’s art keeps randomly coming into my life and I’m so grateful. I just stumbled upon this painting, which reminds me of my Jumpers.)I Went Backcountry Skiing And Everyone At The Trailhead Was Wearing This Color.
(it was a pink party for men and women alike. I’m such a sucker for trends that even though my skin is this exact same shade of pink, I now want this and this. it won’t look good on me, but I wanna be in the Pink Skiing Club. we all wear pink and sing this song at the top of our lungs whilst skiing powder.)
I Love Having This On In The Background.
(tennis forever.)This Is My New Fave Guilty Pleasure Show.
(so many reality television and pop culture randos coming together and I am here for it! lolz.)This Is Beautiful.
(trees being such a perfect part of their community, whilst also holding their boundaries and also holding space for each other to move.)It’s Our Winter Membership Drive!!!!!!
(did you see that rad hat?? also, it’s the last week to join our Record of the Month Club, which is just the coolest.)I V Much Relate To My Taurus 2025 Horoscope.
(though I don’t truly start my new year until January 21st every year. [more on that next week].)Things Have Been Weird/Exhausting…
(…and the other night, I found myself in bed, trying to stifle crying so hard to the most random IG videos of other people cracking up. and I would just watch them over and over and they just get funnier every. single. time. these three were my favorites:
that last one… omg, the best. but Bob the Drag Queen, Zac Efron’s brother is ONTO YOU, girrrrl. [that ridiculous sentence is brought to you by Traitors. please watch it so we can talk about it constantly.])
So happy you’re here. Thanks for letting me share ridiculous stories about love and heartbreak and Jimmy John’s. I wish you nothing but the best in today, tomorrow, this year, and this life.
xxo,
rachel.
obviously not her real name. her real name is weirder, but in a different way. in a cooler way.