Page 56 of One-Star Romance

“Really?” Nat said. “No one’s ever told me that before.”

On the other end of the line, things went muffled, as if her mother was holding a hand over the speaker, saying something that sounded like “You are not being helpful” as Greg protested.

Natalie needed to get off this call immediately. “Sorry, I’m on the train, and…service…”

“Wait,” her mother began. “Do you want to come visit?”

“I can’t,” Nat said. “And you’re going in and out…I’ll try you later.”

Then she hung up, sat back on the hard seat, and let the tears come.

She had to start over, and loneliness lay ahead, and she wept at the prospect with racking, muffled sobs. But there was relief in her tears too, relief from finally having made a choice, hard as it may have been.

Maybe five years from now, she’d look back at this moment and wish she’d chosen differently. But somehow she didn’t think so. Talking to her mother and Greg had helped after all, even if not in the way Natalie had expected. There were so many elements of a life with Jeff that could have been wonderful. She trusted him. She admired him. But she just didn’t love him enough.

Maybe one person in a relationship was always going to be the one to commit more, give more, love more. Maybe someday, despite how much it scared her, she could let that person be her. And if not, well, she’d commit to loving herself as hard as she could, starting now.

Her phone began to vibrate. Her mother, having snuck away from Greg to talk further? But instead, Tyler Yeo’s name appeared on the screen. Probably calling to talk about some new exciting article pinned to the memoir: Tyler Yeo Is Now a Bestselling Author. What’s Next? or 5 Facts You Won’t Believe About Early 2000s Heartthrob Tyler Yeo! #1: He’s Lactose Intolerant! She was not in the mood, so she sent it to voicemail and looked back out the window, the outlines of trees and houses blurring together in the dark.

Another buzz, a text from Tyler. Dude! I just finished Apartment 2F!

She stared down, then immediately called him back. “You read my book? What?”

“Yes! It took me forever to get a copy. It’s too popular, it’s sold out everywhere!”

“I think it’s just been remaindered.”

“Cool!”

“No, that’s when they take your book out of stores because no one is buying—” She cut herself off. “Never mind. Thank you for reading, that was really nice.”

“I loved it. That Dennis guy? He had me cracking up! And I had the best idea. You want to hear it?”

“Um, I think so?”

“Oh, come on. I need some enthusiasm here. You’re gonna like it. So tell me you want to hear it, Natalie Shapiro.”

“I want to hear it,” she said. She leaned forward as Tyler kept talking and the train gathered speed, hurtling into her future.

“I think we should make a TV show.”

Part Five

DECEMBER 2019

A Year and a Half Later

HAPPY HOLIDAYS FROM THE ALVAREZ-STOATS!

What a year it has been! Angus continues to thrive at Insight Capital. Gabby got a promotion at her ad agency, heading up all sorts of new and exciting accounts. (Perhaps you saw a certain Super Bowl commercial this year that was her brainchild?) And of course Christina keeps getting promotions in our hearts. We love her more every day, even as her energy levels present us with new and exhausting challenges. Forget the gym—we’re getting more exercise than we ever have before by simply running after her. But the biggest change of all is that we moved to a house in beautiful Westfield, New Jersey! We have a guest room! We have a staircase (and a childproof gate at the top and bottom of it).

Yet, there is one problem with our house that we can’t solve on our own. It’s too cold. We’ve tried turning up the heat, but nothing except a housewarming party will do the trick. Please come join us Saturday, December 14, for food, drink, and friendship.

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“Sweet Natalie Shapiro, with a network TV show. I never would have seen this coming back when we were together, but I’m so impressed,” said Conor of the inscrutable short stories, sitting across a wobbly table from Natalie in a crowded West Village coffee shop.

“Thank you,” Natalie said, taking a sip of her cappuccino. Men always called her sweet when they didn’t actually know her. Before a couple weeks ago, her last communication with Conor had been a poem he’d sent her a month after their breakup back in 2013, something he’d written about her that was actually about him. Conor had viewed Natalie as a manic pixie dream girl sent to fill his life with sex and adoration, and she, craving his approval, had played the part he asked of her until she outgrew it.

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