Page 42 of The First Love Myth

There’s a rustling as if Cecilia’s settling in. My heartbeat ramps up. What’s happening right now? “Everything is fine. Sorry.” She actually sounds contrite. “What do you know about this guy Liz is seeing?”

Of course. Cecilia would never call to talk to me. Not about anything other than Liz. She didn’t even check in on me after the disastrous weekend in Wildwood, though I know Liz updated her for at least the first few days. Did Cecilia ask? Did she even care? I remember my oldest sister’s soft voice on the porch at Jane’s house. There was worry there. She talked about getting over first loves—real ones—and how it was awful any way you looked at it. She told me about Simon. Liz does an excellent job of keeping each of us apprised of the other, but Liz never mentioned that Cecilia’s first love exploded because of me. We really are three sides of a triangle. Broken as the lines between us are, we’re ever connected, whether we like it or not.

“I know the basics and that when she comes back from seeing him, she’s happy.” I pause. “I thought you wanted her to date.”

I noted over the last week that Liz was tight-lipped about Spencer on her calls with Cecilia, so I stop myself from giving the details I’ve gleaned from sharing a living space. Like what he does for a living or that Liz stays up talking to him almost every night. And most importantly, that they’ve seen each other much more than the two times she’s mentioned to Cecilia.

“I did want her to date.” Cecilia’s voice is high and tight. “But I didn’t think...”

That she would meet someone.The words fall unspoken between us. Is it better or worse if Liz meets someone special? Sleeping with a random guy seems tawdrier than dating someone, but the whole point of this experiment is for Liz to realize that there are other people out there. That after all these years, someone else can love her, want her. It’s exactly what I’m going through. I can’t go sleep with some rando to shake Andrew away. If it were that easy, I would have done it already. But I can’t. And we weren’t married or together for a lifetime.

“She needs to do this in her own way,” I say quietly.Or she’ll always wonder. Either way.

“I know, but it’s my sisterly duty to worry.” The irony of her statement is painful. I feel it in my gut. Has she forgotten who she’s speaking to?

“I understand.” I try and fail to keep my tone neutral.

Cecilia clears her throat. “How are you dealing with everything?”

Wow.I’m not naive enough to think the question means her sisterly worry extends to me. One inquiry doesn’t negate all her silence. And even if I answer, she doesn’t know Haley or Becca or Max. She doesn’t even know Andrew or Claire. But still she asked.

“I’m fine,” I say stiffly. “Andrew—”

The door opens, and Max stands there, eyes wide. His gaze travels from the bed to me and then down my body. Each second feels like a mini eternity.

“Are you okay?” he mouths silently.

I try to smile to reassure him, but getting caught in his bedroom seemingly talking about—or worse,to—Andrew is too awkward. Our eyes lock, and I wave him over.

“I have to go, but try not to worry,” I say to Cecilia. “Liz is a big girl.” I hang up, hoping that that last line dispels any possibility that I was talking to my ex.

“Sorry to interrupt.” He sits down next to me, close enough that our knees touch.

I bump his shoulder with my own. “I’m the one in your room uninvited.”

“You, Zee, are welcome in my bedroom anytime.”

The air shifts between us, static and tension sparking. Goose bumps rise at the nickname or the comment—I can’t tell which. He’s never said my name like that before. I hold his gaze for several seconds, during which I’m brilliantly aware of all the places our bodies touch. Max isn’t drunk, and though I saw him with a beer, no alcohol is on his breath. But I can’t imagine him saying such a thing otherwise. Max, despite the nickname and the touching and the honesty, hasn’t alluded to anything more than friendship aloud. If Haley hadn’t spent the entire afternoon asking a zillion questions about me and Max, dissecting every moment of our time together this summer, I might’ve thought I was completely delusional or suffering from transference and latching on to the first guy who cared at all. But she saw it. And now this.

“What’s going on?” he asks when I don’t respond to his comment. He doesn’t, I note, move away.

“My sister called.” I’ve mentioned Liz and Cecilia and the craziness that is my family before, but I don’t expect him to fully grasp my meaning. “My other sister.”

His eyes narrow in understanding. “That’sinteresting.”

He remembers. Of course he does. The corners of my mouth quirk. “That’s one word for it.”

He smiles and tugs on the loose ends of hair that hang over my shoulder. His fingers brush the bare skin of my collarbone. Electricity shoots through my veins. The touch is nothing likeanything we’ve shared. Coherent thought abandons me. Every nerve in my body is focused on his skin on my skin. I breathe slowly, and his fingers rise and fall but never leave me.

He feels this too. It’s written all over his face. His hand circles the back of my neck, and he tangles his fingers in my hair. I sigh and lean into him, closer than we’ve ever been—not close enough.

“You okay, Zee?”

Zee. There it is again. The single syllable like an oath. Blood rushes through my body, waking up parts of me that had long since gone dormant.

“No one else calls me that,” I say instead of answering his question because I am not okay in the best of ways.

His fingers move across my skin in a caress until he’s cupping my face. His touch is soft against my cheek but scratchy from too much time outside handling sports equipment, and the tiniest of movements bring me to the brink. He runs a single finger across my lips before bringing my face up to his.

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