n our last installment, our columnist — a Midwestern single mom — found out that her new sweetie was breaking off all ties to his ex. Does that mean he’s ready to move ahead full steam with her? And, what’s going on with our writer’s former husband? Why is he taking his new girlfriend on such a lavish vacation? Find out here.

Tuesday, 9:40 p.m.
Molly is finally ensconced in her bedroom. I don’t expect to see her until tomorrow morning given the fact that her room has all the provisions of a bomb shelter. Everything she needs to survive is in those 250 square feet: bags of Goldfish and Oreos, half a pizza pie, peanut butter, bottled water, her cell phone, TiVo and, most important, her laptop and its overflowing IM buddy list.

With my daughter safely out of the way, I’m ready to call my ex,

	“I stare at Kevin and feel this familiar knot in my stomach.”

Craig. But what am I going to say—how can you take your girlfriend Heather to the Bahamas when I can’t afford to pay my cable bill? I don’t want to sound like a crybaby. Plus, I’m not his wife anymore. He owes me absolutely nothing, least of all a justification for going on vacation with Heather.

I’m not going to call him. I’m just going to sit here by myself and stew in the juices of my own resentment.

Wednesday, 7:30 a.m.
Kevin and I are at Little Louie’s, a greasy spoon on the south side of town that makes the best hash browns and the worst coffee. But the service is fast, which makes Little Louie’s the best place to stop for breakfast on a workday. Kevin is sullenly poking at his scrambled eggs and staring out the window. I don’t get it: I thought things would get better between us now that he’s finally broken up with Miss Seattle. But unless I’m being paranoid, things are actually worse. He seems darker, sadder. He rarely smiles or touches me. And we haven’t had sex.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says, pushing his eggs around the plate. He’s not making eye contact.

“Come on, Honey. Talk to me.”

“I said nothing is wrong.”

Six minutes have passed with virtually no conversation.

I stare at Kevin and feel a hard, familiar little knot in my stomach. I think: I don’t need this. I’ve been through this. I was married to this. I

“I’m tempted to call him but don’t know if I should.”

don’t want to play this part again. Tell me what’s wrong. Talk to me. Share with me. Don’t retreat from me. Be with me. Talk to me. I look at Kevin’s face and the darkness that has settled over his sweet features like a storm cloud. I don’t want this.

I find a 10-dollar bill in my bag and tuck it under my plate. “I’ve got to get to work.”

Kevin looks surprised. Actually, I’ve surprised myself. It’s not like me to just walk away. But frankly, I’m not interested in this particular tango anymore. Craig wore me out. I can’t go through this again.

“What does this mean?” Kevin asks.

“It doesn’t mean anything. I’m sorry you’re in a bad mood. Call me when you’re feeling better.”

As I stride out the door I realize that I used to say that to my kids when they were behaving miserably and I found it impossible to communicate with them. Those were my rules of disengagement: We’ll talk when you’re civil.

Wednesday, 9 p.m.
I haven’t heard from Kevin at all today. I can’t help but blame myself. Basically, I walked out on him. I left him sitting there alone at the booth in Little Louie’s. Did he think I was breaking up with him? Should I have stayed and sat in silence or tried to make him talk? Is it wrong of me to expect smiles, warmth, conversation?

I’m tempted to call him but I’m not sure I should. God. I don’t know what to do. On one hand, I enjoyed being with him. He’s smart and fun, and the sex was amazing. On the other hand, this is my first real relationship since the divorce and there’s no reason to assume it’s going to be happily ever after. Now is my chance to figure out what Sara Susannah Katz really wants, needs, deserves. I know what I don’t want: another moody, brooding, I-said-nothing’s-wrong kind of man. I got plenty of that on my first go-round.

I have nothing invested in this relationship. No kids, no shared assets. I don’t even have a toothbrush in his bathroom. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t just walk away, go back online and browse the profiles.

Wait. Is that my cell phone?

Sara Susannah Katz is a writer in the Midwest.

Read Single In The Suburbs, Part 42