hen my ex-boyfriend Lindsay and I broke up, two and a half years ago now, we used to have a joke. I would write a book, presumably about our relationship, and then he could write a forward, in which he pointed out all the things I got wrong, exaggerated, and distorted.

This book will never be written, for a variety of reasons. However, I did write a story about our breakup, the fifth in my “Crying in Restaurants” series, and it only seemed fair to give him a stab at it. I am trying to be better about giving the people I write about a voice. Their voice, not my voice, ratcheted up an octave, struggling to pull off some funny accent.

About an hour or so later, Lindsay sent me this. I’m a little embarrassed to post it, only because it’s just so, well, nice. I didn’t think he’d be mean, exactly, but I thought he’d probably take a few more shots than he did. That would have been my voice, I guess. This is his:

"Sarah's given me an opportunity to respond to her (astonishing, honest, well-wrought, tender) 'Crying in Restaurants' series. I really don't need to take the opportunity, as there are no cruel inaccuracies or exaggerations that she does not herself explain. But if you've kept up with our personal history splayed out here and on Nerve and in The Morning News, you'll know I'm a frustrated writer, or have the occasional impulse to be a frustrated writer. A frustrated frustrated writer. And throughout all of Sarah's writing, it has felt odd being, instead, a recurring character.

You're reading Sarah's work for much the same reason I dated her: she's a fucking dynamo. Her writing, like her, is chock full of passions, often contradictory and cross-purposed, but hurtling two-fisted towards something special and true. It's intoxicating. She's intoxicating. A two-fisted intoxicating something that, in the end, left me with hangovers too suppressive to bear. I did uncork. I did spill my deep dissatisfaction, and I spilled it right onto the new dress Sarah was trying to get me to notice and compliment, but that I never did. [Ed. note: Lindsay told me later that an earlier draft of this said that, in addition to being intoxicating, I am also, often, intoxicated. That made me laugh.]

I made so many mistakes, misinterpreted so many things. I hurt Sarah over and over without ever really knowing it. It was apparent, but never obvious. I felt bad about her feeling bad. I felt worse for her feeling worse. Follow that cycle for a few years, wanting to stop feeling bad, to stop feeling worse, and you turn your tactics from making her feel good to making her go away. This fixes things, but with a stunning finality. When that moment happens, she will do what she does: go all hurtling and two-fisted. And you will do what you do: ignore.

So here is my own rule for crying in restaurants, if you're on the opposite side of the table:

1. Understand that you do not know what to do. If you come with an instruction manual, please get it out at this time. And know that when she starts crying--wherever, but especially in a restaurant, one as posh as this one, with leather banquettes and clean, modern design--you really do not know what to do. You will grapple for whatever you can get ahold of, like a sailor watching his ship drift from the dock, unable to reach the anchor. Maybe what you say is clever. (Save it for dessert!) Maybe it is stupid. (Are you having your period?) But it's all a variant of one critical question, which is, "How can I get her to stop?" Probably the best way for you to get her to stop, right now, is to give up your need to fix things. Maybe if you just stayed calm then maybe, hopefully, it would rub off on her. But that is hard for you. Because, if you are a sensitive man, you will think she is crying because of you. As it turns out, this time, she is.

PS. I do want to know what I bought that was extravagant and unused. That red couch was only $400 and bought before we met." [Ed. note: This has been explained to him. It involved a Rhodes piano, seven guitars, and a high-end wall stove that sat in a box on our kitchen floor for months on end. I believe he uses all of them now.]