Page 10 of The First Love Myth

I’m still in the living room when my dad comes home. His sounds are familiar—his briefcase hitting the ground, his keys clanging in the bowl, his feet shuffling across the floor in only socks—even though it’s been so long since we’ve shared space.

I glance back at my dad, who leans against the couch with a tired-but-genuine smile. He ruffles my hair like I’m ten. “Fancy meeting you here.”

A million memories come back to me. Cecilia and me eating breakfast, Dad strolling in in his bathrobe and slippers, me at the dining room table, doing homework long after everyone else is in bed. How many times has he said those words to me?

“There’s a plate for you in the fridge,” I say.

A yawn overtakes him, and he slides down onto the couch next to me. “It’s nice having you here, Lizzie.”

“I like being here.” The words come out before I can consider them. Consider how I would never be here for a long period of time if I wasn’t avoiding my husband.

My dad gives me a smile so full of melancholy that I feel the depth of his pain as if it’s my own. His eyes search mine. “What’s going on, honey?”

“It’s Jules,” I say and immediately feel stupid, because of course, it’s Julian.

He puts his hand over mine. “It’s not usually you who leaves.”

Ouch.

Even with his clear invitation to unburden myself, the words elude me. How many chances does Julian get? From me? From my family? It’s what has kept me from telling my mother or Cecilia. But my dad... My dad had an extramarital affair. Will he sympathize with Julian? Try to explain how you can do such a thing and still love your family? The answers can break everything.

“Lizzie?” he prods when I don’t respond.

“He was talking to another woman.” My stomach roils. “They kissed.”

Saying the words out loud is like heaving a boulder off my chest, except that boulder had already shattered my sternum. I’m heartbroken and raw. It’s real now. Very, very real. And it hurts. Everywhere. Worst of all, it’s not the first time Julian has caused this pain, the kind that shatters your soul and makes you feel as if you are being torn apart bit by bit until the only thing left is a shell of who you used to be.

I swipe at my eyes, banishing the tears threatening to fall. “And it seems so fucking inevitable.”

“I’m sorry, honey.”

What he doesn’t say echoes in the space between us. That my family hoped that Julian had grown out of this phase, that they all held their words and their breath for my sake. Because I wanted Julian despite everything. There was no talking me out of loving him. Not then. And now... I’m not even sure they’ll try.

Chapter 8

Zoey

The chances that Liz believes I’m out with Becca are dismal. My sister has no poker face. She thinks she does, but every little reaction Liz has is broadcast in her expressions. She knows about Andrew, and she wants to tell someone. Whether it’s half-sister solidarity, Liz’s overcompensation for Cecilia’s rejection, or something else making her keep my secret I can’t be sure. But the window before the truth bursts out of my sister is growing smaller, which is why I stopped at Ardena Café before heading to Andrew’s. If I come home with proof of whereabouts, maybe she’ll think she was wrong or be placated for another day. Because if Liz spills my secret, my dad is sure to lock me down for the summer. Worse yet, he might ship me off to my mother. This wouldn’t be different than most summers, except for the fact that this summer my mother not so subtly informed me that her family—my mom, her husband, and their two kids—was road-tripping to Disney World and that I wasn’t invited. What’s a few more months on top of a few more months when I barely see my mom as it is?

I roll the Ardena Café bag to preserve the freshness and look up at the expanse of Andrew’s house. He and his mother live in one of the mansions in what is called North Ardena. It isn’t actually its own town, only a few uptight old men who didn’t want to be associated with the “riffraff,” as my dad put it when I was old enough to ask about such things. He left out that“riffraff” technically included him and me. Andrew’s house is impressive, if not a little formulaic on the outside, but inside it always feels empty. His dad moved out during freshman year of high school, before we met. His mom got Andrew and the house, but they’ve never been able to fill the space left by Mr. Singer. I’m not even sure they tried.

The house is dark, but that doesn’t mean anything. Andrew’s room is on the far side, and I know his mom is out for the night. My phone buzzes, and I drop the car door handle. If he is canceling on me now, I’m going to use the spare key they keep under the potted plant and smear this alibi pastry all over his bed. Not really, but he would deserve nothing less.

I scan the notification on my phone.Hi, it’s Max.What? My fingers can barely swipe the passcode fast enough. He’s supposed to be out of town for five more days. Why is he texting me? It’s not particularly late at night, but still. Questions swirl through my mind. Did I forget a form? Does he want to talk to me? I should be asking why I’m sweating bullets over those three innocuous words, but not going there.

My phone buzzes again, and I scan the stack of messages.

Back in town early.

Want to train together this week?

Say, tomorrow at the school around 8?

Not exactly worth the jolt that went through my body. And yet... he wants to train with me. What normal human wants to spend their last week of freedom before summer camp training at eight in the morning? I glance back at Andrew’s house. Whatever Max’s intent, nothing in these messages will keep me from walking into that house. I pause, my hand on the door handle again. Do I want a reason not to walk into Andrew’s house?

A knock sounds at the driver’s-side window, and I jump back, reaching for the lock, though I know it’s already locked.Andrew’s laugh sounds outside the car. I glance up to see him smirking as he motions for me to roll down the window.

I do so while glaring at him. He can be such a jackass. “Scaring me half to death isn’t good foreplay.”

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