n our last installment, our writer learned that her guy Kevin had finally broken things off with his ex—and he made a startling, straight-from-the-heart confession. But still, there was a shadow over the relationship. Now, Sara has to decide whether things are going to move forward between them… or fall apart.

Saturday, 2 p.m.
I’m sitting with Kevin at an outdoor table by the bagel place. The sun is melting the makeup off my face and I’m quite certain I can smell the consequences of this morning’s decision to forgo deodorant.

I wish I were home in my air-conditioned bedroom watching the

	I’m just not ready for a relationship— with him.

Dog Whisperer on TiVo. Instead, I’m listening to Kevin complain about his boss, his co-workers, and the injustice of a system that has kept him at roughly the same pay scale since 1998. I watch his mouth move but all I hear is the hushed roar of white noise and all I can think is: LOSER.

As the conversation progresses, I feel a painful mixture of guilt, pity, and get-me-the-hell-away-from-this-man. I have come to the conclusion that I don’t want to date him. But I don’t feel ready to tell him, not while he’s spinning out his tale of woe (wouldn’t it be cruel to kick him when he’s already down?). Maybe tomorrow. Or next week. I don’t know.

Sunday, 11:15 a.m.
I’m on the computer, Googling, of all things, “tattoos for suburban mothers.”

Even though the nose ring didn’t work out (ouch), I’m still hankering to do something edgy and rebellious (though I must admit that when I reread those words I think I sound like a complete dork).

Anyway, I’ve been considering getting a tattoo. I want something to mark my passage into this new stage of life. But what kind of tattoo? It has to be something I can live with for a long time, something that won’t bore or embarrass me in the future. I don’t want anything trendy, like a tribal design. And I definitely don’t want anything in Chinese characters. (My son told me about a friend of his who thought he was getting something like “powerful warrior” and it turned out to mean “jackass.”)

I don’t want anything too dainty either. If I’m going to do this, I want

I know I’ve made the right choice because I feel like celebrating.

it to be big and bold. On the other hand, I need to be able to cover it with clothing; my workplace is progressive but I don’t think my boss would fancy seeing me at high-level meetings sporting a big tattoo on my forearm.

Over 840,000 search results come up, including a link to a blog of a suburban mother posed in her laminated wood foyer (which looks eerily identical to my own laminated wood foyer) wearing what she calls “housewife garb.” She sees her tattoo as a youthful indiscretion and wonders how she’ll explain it to her kids when they’re old enough to understand. I, on the other hand, wonder how I’ll explain a tattoo that’s more like a bizarre midlife decision than a youthful indiscretion. Hmmm…

Monday, 9:07 p.m.
Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, I’m free at last. In an awkward yet ultimately liberating phone conversation, I told Kevin that I am not ready for a serious relationship, which is only partly true. I’m not ready for a serious relationship with him. He surprised me by saying he has been feeling the same way and was relieved that I made the first move in ending things. Now that I have had some time to process, I think his response was probably more of a face-saving effort than a genuine expression of relief, but who cares? It’s over and I feel as if I am almost weightless. My mother once told me that if you quit something — a relationship, a job, whatever — you know you’ve made the right choice if you feel like celebrating.

I feel like celebrating. I think I’ll go get a tattoo.

Sara Susannah Katz is a writer in the Midwest.

Read Single In The Suburbs, Part 45