He slipped back into my life like a character popping into frame after a brief celluloid absence. It had only been about three weeks, long enough for disgust to dissolve in the haze of hiatus. We had reconnected beautifully, and I was looking forward to seeing him at a burlesque show (to which I invited him), so it was strange to hear him say that afternoon, “By the way, Wife said she’s going to stop by tonight, just thought I’d run that by you.” He delivered this news to me as a throwaway line, painfully nonchalant. What could I say? I was ambushed—my pride whispering, “Be cool,” while my heart screamed, “What the fuck?” Although I would be meeting friends there, inviting his other seemed a bit uncouth, especially since we had sex the night before.

“Are you okay with that?” He asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “So I can bring somebody else?”

“Of course.”

Throughout the remainder of the day I fumed, relaxed, struggled and made phone calls. I envisioned bringing my Latin lover, kissing, caressing and exchanging Spanish phrases right in front of He Who Invited His Wife. Thank Eros he wasn’t available. It would’ve been mean to put my inamorado Mexicano in such a position. (To use one lover to vindicate another is really not my style, even though it seemed like the perfect antidote to my bewilderment.) So I called my French flirtation … envisioning the same behavior with him; it made more sense to ostentatiously flirt and parler français with a potential than with a current—a far less offensive ploy. But he was off the radar: my voicemails fell into an abyss, not meant for response. Finally I asked my dinner date, a friend. I explained the situation. “If I wasn’t so tired, I would go, and even put my arms around you in front of him,” he said. So I was left to my own devices. There was no one else to call. I couldn’t invite just anyone; it had to be someone, preferably a male (because a female would not have the same effect), with whom I had chemistry, otherwise what was the point? 

No problem, my ego asserted. You have other lovers, so why shouldn’t his wife be included in group functions? You don’t even know if he invited her. He probably mentioned the show and she asked if she could come, in which case, how could he have told her no? This is nothing! You are polyamorous and therefore understanding of lovers’ other relationships. He’s not even having sex with Wife! This is an opportunity to get to know her, which will likely diffuse any negative feelings associated with her—who are you kidding?

When she arrived, he introduced me. This was our second meeting—the first, a brief happenstance. It seemed bearable. I would tell her about my occupation and she may find me intriguing. But then the others drifted away, leaving the three of us absently watching a tired spectacle of pasties and glittered lips. When he moved his chair closer to hers and started speaking in that gratingly familiar manner of providing one’s partner with an update of the day’s events, I couldn’t face either of them. How could I partake in their conversation? I bolted without a word and rejoined my friends. But I found no solace in their gossip and, noticing my lover inching toward me without seeing me, Wife standing at the bar looking pained, I scurried downstairs to the restroom. It was time to make my exit. So what if I had plans to spend the following night with Pedro? So what if another lover-friend was coming over at five in the morning to snuggle into bed with me after his bartending shift? Nobody likes to feel negated, no matter how many positives exist outside the moment. I would say goodbye to my friends then slip away, slip out of his frame.

But there he was, in the hallway near the coat check. I exploded, “I’m outta here. This is really weird … Why did you spring this on me today? I didn’t know what to say … What could I say? Tell you to tell her not to come? I tried to get another date, but I couldn’t … it was too short notice … what? I couldn’t get a date? I thought I could handle it, but it’s just too weird. Why do I feel this way? I’m leaving.” He intercepted my sputtering with apologies, his face displaying the tension of one trying desperately to cling to something slipping away.

The next day we were back in the same frame and all was forgiven. He wanted to rewind the time-code to that moment when he told me she was coming. Why wasn’t he clearer about his intentions? Why didn’t I express my concern when he asked me if I was okay? In order to answer those questions, one must ask these: What can you do when your heart is being pulled in so many directions? How do you juggle multiple lovers? Polyamory has its flaws; somebody will always get hurt no matter how careful you are. Not that monogamy is any guarantee of romantic protection—whether you have one ball or six, sometimes a ball is going to drop, no matter how hard you try to keep it in the air. And the camera keeps rolling.