Page 1 of From Now On

CHAPTER ONE

EVE

My world upends mid-sip of merlot.

“I’m not sure we’re forever.”

I swallow. Sputter.Stareat Ben Fletcher, my boyfriend of almost four years. Myex-boyfriend, I guess, as of approximately ten seconds ago.

Because those five words—now on an endless loop in my head—aren’t ones you recover from. They’re words that haunt you late at night when you can’t sleep. They’refinal.

I wish I could say this is the first time I’ve had my heart broken. It’s not. But it’s the first time it’s happened when I haven’t seen it coming. Experience counts for something, though. My hand doesn’t tremble as I set the wineglass down on the flawless white tablecloth.

Ben chose to utter that life-altering sentence in Somerville’s nicest restaurant, La Bella Napoli. Unless I want my legacy in this town to be stained linen and a public outburst, I have to keep it together.

I’m tooshockedto react, I think. My lips are numb. My tongue is numb. I understand exactly what the true crime podcasts I listen to mean when they saythe blood drained fromher face. I can feel it taking place, a chill appearing as warmth sinks.

Ben drags a palm down his forehead and over his nose. He swears under his breath before dropping his hand. His Adam’s apple bobs once, like a nervous tic. “I—I didn’t mean to say it like that,” he tells me.

Didn’t mean to say it likethat. NotDidn’t mean to say it.

I’d just told him “it won’t be forever” while we were discussing our living situation in the fall.Arguingabout our living situation in the fall would be more accurate, actually.

For two years, The Plan has been for us to move to New York City together after graduation. I’d waitress or bartend or work retail until I became a famous artist and every gallery was clamoring to sell my work. Ben would attend NYU’s graduate film program and become an Oscar-winning director. We’d live in a shoebox that probably wouldn’t have air-conditioning and probablywouldhave mice, eating ramen for most meals. But we’d be together, and we’d both be chasing our dreams.

ThatwasThe Plan.

It’s astonishing, how a single sentence can obliterate years of planning. Erase countless hours of conversations. It feels like I was halfway up a staircase, and the rest of the steps ahead just…vanished.

Ben exhales so heavily the taper candles on the table flicker.

“My uncle offered me a job.”

“At theseafoodstore?”

Ben frowns. “It’s a profitable business, Eve.”

It’s a lobster shack. Calling it astorewas generous. They don’t accept credit cards; it’s cash only. There’s no public restroom, and the bathroom that does exist is not exactly a privilege to pee in.

“But…you want to be a director,” I remind Ben, like he’s possibly forgotten about the dream he’s had for as long as I’ve known him. “You got into NYU and you’re?—”

“I turned NYU down.”

I gape at him, jaw open and eyes wide. “You— What?”

This is feeling a lot less like cold feet or second thoughts and a lot more like deliberate decisions made without me.

Another beleaguered sigh comes from Ben’s side of the table, but the candles stay lit. “I already have student loans, Eve. Taking out a bunch more just to indulge the fantasy I become a famous director one day?” He shakes his head. “It was fun to think about. To talk about. To hope for. But we’re graduating soon, and it’s time to face reality. Rowan said?—”

“You discussed this withRowan?” I hiss.

Ben blows out a deep breathagain. He’s always been a sigher. And I used to find the deliberate exhales reassuring. A grounding rhythm whenever I was unsure. Ben’s a constant, someone who shows up and sees things through.

Except, his reliability dried up. So, right now, Ben sighing is the most irritating sound I’ve ever heard.

“She’s my best friend, Eve.”

I know Rowan is his best friend. That’s a fact I’ve been uncomfortably aware of our entire relationship. Because Rowan is a cheerful blonde who grew up in the same small coastal town in Maine.

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