Page 33 of The First Love Myth

“I’m not—”

“She made a stupid decision, Liz. If she drove herself, this wouldn’t even have been a thing. Andrew would’ve been a complete jackass, and she would’ve gotten in her car and driven home to cry it out over ice cream and sad movies. Like the rest of us.”

I roll my eyes. It’s similar to what Jane said, in its way. “The rest of us weren’t still sleeping with our exes.”

“Listen, if you need to ask her to stay, ask. But she is not your responsibility, sister or not,” she adds when I start to protest. “She picked wrong, and it sucks any way you look at it, but she’s nineteen. She’ll rebound.”

“I know.” I put the now-empty plate down on the coffee table. “But I want to give her a safe space to do that in. Dad is not equipped to handle this level of heartbreak. Do you remember what he was like when Julian broke up with me the first time?”

That is, of course, the wrong example because Cecilia has no idea what our father has been like for the past seventeen years. She doesn’t know how my dad took me to the mall for ice cream and retail therapy three days after the prom debacle. Zoey was strapped into her stroller and begging for every princess doll at the Disney Store. I cried over sundaes at Johnny Rockets because of how many dates Julian and I had at the mall. Mydad went misty-eyed talking about how men, no matter what age, didn’t know a good thing until it was gone. And then he said words I have never forgotten—“I miss her every day, Lizzie. Some mornings I wake up, and I think I hear you and Cee down in the kitchen, or I roll over and expect your mother to be there. I’d give almost anything to have not hurt you.” I didn’t have to ask why it wasalmostanything. He had instinctively reached for Zoey, ruffling her hair and handing her a slice of grilled cheese. My dad would give anything to have his family back, anything except his daughter. It wasn’t even a choice.

“No,” Cecilia says stonily. “But you’re right. He’s much better at causing heartache than coping with it.”

“Cee.”

She holds up her hands in supplication. “You’re going through something big, Liz. I don’t want you to get so caught up in Zoey’s drama that you neglect your own.”

I snicker. “My own drama?”

“Hey, you are the one who has a way with words.”

But apparently not tonight. “I appreciate your concern, and I promise I’m not shoving my potential divorce in a corner. But there’s no easy answer. Do I miss Jules? Yes. Do I want to go home and talk his infidelity and character flaws to death? Not at the moment. I didn’t realize this at first, but this”—I wave around the apartment—“is about me. I get to be the one to choose now. I always thought I did whenever I took him back, but not really. Now, I get to go back or move on, to feel or not whatever Jules felt whenever he left, to understand the pull that always drove us back together.”

“And you are going to start this exploration of your feelings by taking up with a heartbroken nineteen-year-old?”

I slip my wedding ring off for the second time today. It’s easier this time but barely. My pulse quickens, but I steadily place the ring down on top of the copy ofHumans of NewYorkmy mom gave me as an apartment-warming gift. The card had been blank with a kitten on the front. Inside, in my mom’s big looping handwriting, it read:There’s more to life than fairy tales and heartbreak. Find it.And a postscript demanding an invitation to see my new place. Classic Mom.

I run my hands down the tops of my legs and grip my knees to keep my hands from shaking and my toes from tapping. Jane’s words run through my mind. What made her think I made any decisions? Jane knows me so well that I wonder if I did decide and don’t know it. All I do know is I have to embrace this moment in my life because, either way, it’s going to change everything.

I look into my sister’s worried and tired eyes. “And by signing up for speed dating.”

Chapter 29

Zoey

Monday comes too soon. I’m exhausted, even after spending almost all day Sunday in bed. My body hurts, my head aches, and every thump of my heart is laced with memories. Yesterday, in between all the crying, Liz handed me a decrepit laptop and some headphones and told me to write it out. So I did. And for a few minutes afterward, with Wilderness Weekend’s saddest album ringing in my ears, I felt relief. It didn’t last, but it did force the truth from me. My relationship with Andrew is over. My head and heart finally agree. But my head doesn’t know how to forget years’ worth of memories overnight, and my heart? I’m not sure it will ever work properly again. All heartbroken teenagers probably think that. Hearts shatter every day. The earth still spins. And I still have to get up and go to work.

So unfortunately, I’m up at the butt crack of dawn to drive the forty minutes back to Ardena from Princeton. If I’m lucky, I will see approximately no one I know, Dad will still be asleep, and Andrew will still be in Wildwood with whoever he picked up Saturday night. Panic stirs under the surface at the mere thought of his name. But Andrew isn’t stupid or cruel enough to show up Monday morning and try to talk to me. At least I pray that’s still the case. The last thing I need is to bitch-slap him in front of half the athletes at Ardena High. As if we weren’t the source of enough gossip this summer.

When I finally pull into the high school parking lot, one hour and two coffees later, it’s full. Parents are lined up to drop off the younger kids. Most of the high schoolers walk or bike every day. I watch the line of cars moving slowly through the lot. Whoever is handling drop-off today isn’t very good at it. If not for the heat wave breaking last night and the promise of blue skies all day, those parents would be honking for sure.

Even blue skies and clouds so fluffy you want to cuddle up with them can’t brighten my mood, however. I grab my water bottle from the back seat and slip my sunglasses back down onto my face. I tighten my ponytail. It’s another day, another football field, another high school.Breathe, Zoey.

“Zee! Hey.” Max’s voice brings me back to attention. That and the nickname. I’ve never gone by Zee, but from Max, it sounds right. He stands by the hood of my car, his eyes crinkling in concern. A sheen of sweat already glazes his body, and his hair, longer than I’ve ever seen it, is matted to his forehead. “Where have you been?”

I glance at my watch. No, still early. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been trying to get in touch with you since yesterday.”

“Oh.” I hand him the scrap of paper with my new number on it and try to sound as casual as possible when I say, “I have a new number.”

He examines the paper, his lips curving into a frown. “Everything okay?”

“Not really.” I shrug. “But I’ll survive.”I hope.

“Hey, hey,” he sings.

I pull a face. “Real funny.”

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