I turned on the TV. Wheel of Fortune was on. I didn’t care for Wheel of Fortune, but sometimes we watched it as a kind of warm-up for Jeopardy!

I looked at the three Wheel of Fortune contestants. I scrutinized the woman in the middle.

Holy shit, I thought.

“Bite the bullet,” my girlfriend said, sitting next to me on the couch.

“Bite the bullet,” my ex said through the TV.

It was eerie, to be sure. It was upsetting.

Audience applause broke out, and the camera zoomed in on my ex. She looked good. That is, her face and bare shoulders did. The rest of her I couldn’t see. I could imagine, though. I could remember.

Wheel of Fortune cut to commercials and I got up from the couch. In the kitchen I opened the fridge, took out a beer. I had a few sips before joining my girlfriend back in the living room.

She looked at me.

“Another?”

“That kind of day,” I said without looking into her eyes.

“You know beer’s not good for you.”

“Lies. Liberal jargon.” I didn’t know why I said that. I sometimes said things that popped into my head when I got upset. I mean, I was a liberal, or at least thought of myself as one.

I sipped my beer some more. My girlfriend was staring at me, just staring. It was getting on my nerves.

“What’s eating you?”

“Nothing. Jesus Christ. Will you just let me be?”

She looked away from me, at the TV, and I felt bad all of a sudden. It wasn’t her fault my ex was on Wheel of Fortune. It wasn’t her fault I felt such complicated emotions.

“Did something happen today?” my girlfriend asked, glancing at me.

“Nothing happened. Nothing ever happens.”

“You could always”—and here her voice broke, but only for a second, thankfully—“you could always look for another job.”

“I know. Thanks. Thanks for your concern.”

“I just want you to be happy, is all.”

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s drop it. Let’s try to enjoy ourselves tonight. Alright?”

Our lives were so empty, we kept track of how many questions we got right on Jeopardy! Whoever got the most questions right, the winner, chose something the loser had to do. It could be apartment chores, it could be things in the bedroom, it could be going to a nice restaurant in town. It was pathetic. Stupid. But it was something. We were holding on, trying to.

Wheel of Fortune came back on. My ex stood in front of a smaller wheel now. I could see her from her waist up. She looked trim. I felt proud to have been with her, happy for our time together. For the moment I was no longer upset, only grateful and mildly horny. I wondered if my ex still ran every morning. If her running clothes still stuck to her sweaty, tan body afterward. If she still peeled them off like giant Band-Aids before stepping in the shower.

My ex spun the wheel, picked up the card the wheel stopped on and handed it to Pat Sajak. Sajak slid his arm into my ex’s, the old dog, and the two of them walked onto the middle of the stage. Now the whole of my ex, from head to toe, was visible.

“She’s pretty!” my girlfriend said.

“Not as pretty as you,” I lied.

She laughed as I finished my beer.

The puzzle was in the “thing” category. The “thing” was two words, the first word eight letters, the second word nine. Sajak asked my ex for three consonants and a vowel. I studied her face as a few letters appeared on the otherwise blank puzzle.

“Audience, please be quiet,” Sajak said. And to my ex, “Good luck. You have ten seconds to solve, starting now.”

The countdown began.

“European Postcards!” my girlfriend shouted.

“European Postcards!” my ex shouted a second later.

European Postcards it was. My ex started jumping up and down, screaming like a little girl at Disneyland as Sajak walked over to her. He flipped open the card my ex had pulled from the wheel and showed her the card before showing it to us viewers. My ex put her hand to her mouth and started jumping up and down some more. It was a great deal of money, no question about it.

“Damn,” my girlfriend said. “That could’ve been me.”

I was about to tell her no, it was in fact my ex, but stopped myself as a well-built man ran onto the stage, grabbed my ex by the waist and lifting her off the ground, twirled her around. They started kissing, the camera zooming in on the lovebirds.

Then the show was over. My girlfriend got up from the couch and disappeared into the bathroom. When she returned, Jeopardy! was starting. She sat down on the couch, patted my thigh and reached for my hand. I let her have it.

I felt her fingers caress my palm, and I caressed her palm back.

“You better bring your A-game tonight. I’m feeling pretty sharp.”

“I might not always bring my A-game,” I said, “but at least I always get an A for effort.”

“We’ll see about that,” my girlfriend said, giving my hand a squeeze. “The verdict’s still up in the air.”

I squeezed her hand back, and looking into her eyes, smiled. At least I wasn’t alone in the world, I thought. It was something.