Illustration by ISTVAN BANYAI

Josh always knew, on some level, that it was possible for him to get traded. He’d seen it happen to dozens of guys over the years, including some of his closest friends. It was part of the game. Still, he had never been traded himself, and he was having some trouble accepting it. He kept expecting someone to tap him on the shoulder and tell him the whole thing was a joke.

“Here’s your stuff,” Kate said, dropping a duffelbag at his feet. “Goodbye.”

Josh stared at her for a moment, expecting some kind of encouragement or sympathy. But Kate just stood there, her eyelids fluttering with impatience.

“So that’s it, then,” Josh said. “After three and a half years.”

“What do you want me to say?” Kate snapped.

He picked up the bag and slung it wearily over his shoulder. There was nothing he could do. When your girlfriend decides to trade you, you’re through.

“I just don’t get it!” Josh shouted, over the din of the jukebox. “I thought things were going really well.”

“They weren’t,” his brother Craig said. “The writing was on the wall.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. Your record’s been sinking all year. You told me yourself you had a five-argument losing streak. And then there were all those errors.”

Josh nodded ruefully. There had been a lot of errors this year. Forty-five Missed Compliments, three Forgotten Events, twelve Accidental Insults—he’d been playing like a rookie.

Craig squeezed his little brother’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Josh,” he said. “Believe me, I know what you’re going through. Remember in ’04-’05? When Zoe traded me?”

Josh nodded. They’d come to the same bar then.

“I was devastated,” Craig said. “I’d just taken her to Henry’s Inn for her birthday—you know, that fancy place with all the candles? Got her a steak, gave her a necklace, took her to a show, massaged her feet . . .”

“You hit for the cycle?”

“Uh-huh. Then I wake up the next day and she’s giving me my marching orders. Tells me she needs to ‘shake things up’ if she wants to remain a contender.”

“Unbelievable.”

“It was right before Valentine’s Day.”

“Of course,” Josh said. “The Trade Deadline.”

“Exactly. You know what the worst part is? I know the guy she traded me for. And he’s garbage.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he’s some kind of banker. Always looking at himself in the mirror and fixing his goddam tie. It’s, like, ‘Come on, you traded me for this guy?’ I mean, O.K., his stats are pretty good. He’s got me beat in Money, and his Sex Numbers are impressive. But what about intangibles? What about Attitude? Intelligence? Effort? Those things have got to count for something!”

He ate some potato chips and wiped the grease on his jeans.

“Who am I kidding?” he muttered. “These days? The only thing they care about is the bottom line.”

When Kate had offered Josh his contract, he was so excited that he barely bothered to read it. He realized now that he should have perused the fine print. According to the trade clause, he had seventy-two hours to get his stuff out of her apartment. His Sexual Privileges were completely revoked, along with Hugging Rights and Injury Sympathy. It was insane. Why had he given her so much power in the first place?

He was struggling to get through the clause on Mutual Friends—the footnotes alone were five pages—when he heard a knock on the door. He took a long, slow breath and opened it.

Kate’s new boyfriend smirked down at him. He had tattoos on his neck and was wearing a scarf and shades, even though it was summer and he was indoors.

“ ’Sup,” he said.

Josh forced a smile. There was no reason to be impolite. It was an awkward situation, but what could he do about it?

“ ’Sup,” he responded.

The two men shook hands, reached into their pockets, and exchanged keys.

“This one’s for Kate’s lobby,” Josh explained. “And this one’s for her door. You have to kind of push it in and then turn.”

The man nodded.

“Lisa likes it from behind,” he offered.

Josh nodded awkwardly.

“O.K.,” he said. “I guess that’s it, then.”

“Good luck.”

“You, too.”

“What do you mean, ‘an artist’?” Craig asked. “Like, in advertising or something?”

Josh swallowed. It was taking him a tremendous amount of effort to get the words out. It was as if his tongue were coated with clay.

“He does performance art,” he mumbled. “Based on Camus . . . and Sartre.”

“Jesus,” Craig said. “She traded you for that?”

He ordered another round of drinks.

“Is it all finalized?” he asked.

Josh nodded.

“We both passed our physicals. He’s probably at her place by now.”

He banged his fist on the bar.

“Damn it!” he said. “I know I’m not an all-star, all right? My job is boring, I don’t understand art, and I like bad TV! I just . . . I thought I was worth something.” He shook his head. “She must have really wanted to get rid of me.”

A mousy girl named Lisa opened the door and looked Josh up and down.

“Is now a good time?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “Come on in.”

He put his bag down on the rug and looked around. Her apartment was a lot smaller than Kate’s, but at least the TV was bigger.

“Is that a flat screen?”

She laughed.

“Keanu said it was making him stupid. It was one of our biggest fights.”

Josh nodded.

“My last girlfriend hated TV,” he said. “Especially my favorite show.”

“ ‘Jersey Shore,’ right?”

Josh winced.

“I didn’t know that showed up in my stats.”

She held up a copy of Josh’s old contract.

“Everything’s in here.”

Josh held his breath while Lisa adjusted her glasses and flipped through the pages.

“You really should have negotiated for more,” she said.

“What do you mean? It’s not a good contract?”

“It’s terrible. I mean, look at this. Your Sexual Privileges are almost nonexistent.”

Josh sighed. He had always suspected that Kate had screwed him with that clause—but he didn’t have any other long-term contracts to compare it with, and he’d been too embarrassed to ask his brother if it was normal.

“And this Emotional Support clause is pathetic. One Career Pep Talk a year?”

“That’s low?”

“Yes. Girlfriends are usually required to give at least one a month. Why didn’t you hire a lawyer?”

Josh threw up his hands.

“Because I’m an idiot,” he said. “Because I’m a worthless idiot.”

He picked up his duffelbag.

“You know, you don’t have to take me!” he said. “I know there’s a release clause. You can just put me on waivers.”

Lisa laughed.

“Why would I put you on waivers? I traded for you,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“The trade was my idea.”

Josh slowly put his bag down.

“It was?”

“Yes. I mean . . . Kate didn’t exactly argue when I made the offer. But I set the whole thing up. I don’t have a lot of relationship experience, but I can spot a good deal when I see it.”