Page 74 of Past Present Future

I’m not sure if this one’s in my dad’s voice or mine.

She keeps talking about Europe but I can barely process any of it, which makes me feel even guiltier. There must be guys at Emerson who have money, guys who could take her out and not balk at the size of the bill. Guys without family baggage. Guys who don’t have to try so hard to be happy when they should be having the time of their lives.

True, she chose me once. But that version of me seems more and more like a stranger, and there may come a time when I’ve changed too much, become too unfamiliar. Someone to be pitied—no longer an equal, the way we were through high school.

A sharp pain in my chest makes me stop abruptly on the sidewalk. Suddenly I can’t catch my breath, my lungs tightening and my throat closing up and—no. I have to stay in control.

“Hey, you okay?” Rowan’s expression is unlike any I’ve seen before. This pure and genuine worry, one that she shouldn’t have to feel.

I thought I could keep it away while she was here. Keep that monster hidden.

Because as soon as I acknowledge any sliver of it, I know it’s all going to tumble out. The fear and insecurity and loneliness and loathing. Proof I am becoming a poor facsimile of the person she loved.

Everything is burning, sweat dripping down my back, and is this what a heart attack feels like? Have I been too dismissive of the signs, and this is what it was all barreling toward? My hands fly to my neck. This tie. Why did I wear a fucking tie?

“Of course. Sorry. Just, uh—too warm, I guess,” I say, my thumbs stumbling over the knot at my throat.

She steps closer, lamplight casting her features in a delicate glow. “Let me?” she asks, leaning in so that she can undo the tie.

Instant relief—that’s what it is. Her words are so steady. Calming. I cling to this feeling like a life preserver. Then she flicks open the top button of my shirt, kissing me lightly. I can finally drag in a full breath, my shoulders sinking back into place. I refocus on this gorgeous, clever girl who somehow chose me. The girl whose ambition I admired long before I could decipher my true feelings, the girl who challenges me in all the best ways.

I am so fucking lucky, and tonight I’m going to make sure she knows it.

I dip my head until my lips brush her ear. “What I wanted to say earlier was that you look incredibly hot in that dress. I’ve been having some very indecent thoughts.”

“And you know how I feel about you in a tie.”

“You might have to tell me a few more times.”

“I will,” she says. “All night, probably, while we act out your indecent thoughts.” God. I may not make it until then. An innocent smile, and then she gives my collar a tug. “Now. Onward to make fools of ourselves in front of several dozen small children.”

21

ROWAN

THE EVENT IS adorable in all the ways a chapter-book launch should be, with juice boxes galore and half the kids dressed up as their favorite characters. Which means, incidentally, because the books are somewhat based on my childhood, that a few of them are dressed as me—little buns coiled on top of their heads, striped leggings, bright T-shirts. Look through any Roth family photo album and that was my uniform from preschool to fifth grade.

And the best part: when my parents beckon me to the front of the room, introduce me as their daughter, and ask me to read a section of the book. I used to do this all the time, but it’s been a few years, mainly sparked by embarrassment at my first period and bat mitzvah drama having made their way into earlier books. Tonight I wear being Jared Roth and Ilana García Roth’s daughter with pride, and I’m surprised to revel in the attention of that many eight- to ten-year-olds.

Because then one of them asks if I write books like my mom and dad, and I meet Neil’s gaze before announcing that yes, I’m a writer too. It comes out more confidently, more solidly than I thought it might.

“But you probably have to be a bit older before you read my books,” I add.

After kids are whisked home to bed and Neil and I hug my parents goodbye, we order decaf coffee from a nearby café, sipping slowly as we wander through a park.

Boston already has half my heart, but I’m starting to think I could fall a little in love with this city too. My fatal flaw: I spend enough time anywhere, and I suddenly start making it part of my personality. The Greenwich Village mug back in my dorm that I’ve been using almost every day would have to agree.

There is something perfect about this, the two of us strolling through New York at night, the soothing pressure of his palm on my back.

At least, it would be perfect if Neil didn’t seem slightly off.

When he thinks I’m not looking, his expression shifts, eyes appearing unfocused. Jaw muscles going slack. This boy has always been wound tight, but tonight I sense some tension simmering beneath the surface. Probably none of it would be noticeable if I didn’t know him as well as I do.

After my misstep in Boston, I’m not sure how to bring it up. If whatever’s going on in his head is off-limits the way talking about his dad was.

“I have a surprise for us,” I say instead. If there’s anything that will bring him back to me, hopefully it will be this. Neil gives me a lift of his eyebrows as I reach into my purse and pull out a room key. “Several blocks from my parents, so. Don’t worry about that.”

Conflicted emotions flicker across his face: excitement at first, and then concern. “That couldn’t have been cheap.”

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