Page 10 of From Now On

It’s what he decided. Thewhendoesn’t really matter.

Bitterness curdles in my belly, so I reach for my half-full cup as a remedy. I added some seltzer to the vodka, but the drink’s strong enough to use as antiseptic. The sip burns at first, then settles and spreads into pleasant, warm numbness.

“Want to watch a movie?” Harlow asks. “Take your mind off it?”

“No.” I blow out a breath. “Thanks.”

“What about donuts? I can make a quick run to Holey Moley.”

“Not hungry,” I reply.

Harlow already sacrificed her night with Conor for me. I’m not going to send her out on a fried dough mission solo, and I’m in no shape to be seen in public.

Holt is a small campus, and I used to love that about this school. The sense of community was comforting. Now, it feels constrictive.

Now, I have people to avoid.

“We could go spread instant mashed potatoes in his front yard,” she suggests. “The snow’s supposed to switch to rain soon, so he’ll have a late-night surprise snack. Oh! Or we could cover his car in plastic wrap. I saw that on a TV show and I’ve always wanted to try it.”

I groan a laugh. I knew she’d suggest pranks at some point. Harlow’s fiercer—braver—than I am. I’m the type of person wholikes to pretend unpleasant moments never happened. Or, in this case, get drunk on the couch. “Dozens of Holt students live in his apartment building, Harlow. And the car thing sounds…like a lot of work.”

I don’t care enough. I can’t say it aloud, even to my best friend.

When Conor broke up with Harlow—on her birthday, which I haven’t totally forgiven him for—Harlow was hurt. She was also furious.Ishould be feeling that way, I think. Not this detached processing, like I’m watching someone else write my life and am waiting to see their decision on what I do next. I skipped right past denial and anger and bargaining and depression and already reached the final stage of grief. Acceptance. There are vestiges of all sorts of emotions swirling inside of me—sadness, surprise, sentimentality—but I’ve already accepted their cause. It never occurred to me to disagree, when Ben saidI’m not sure we’re forever. To argue or to attempt to change his mind. Partly because of pride. Partly out of apathy.

“I’ll keep brainstorming.” Harlow reaches for her glass and gags on a sip.

I measured both drinks.

I smile, but it collapses quickly.

Harlow reaches out and squeezes my knee. “It’ll be okay, E. Even if it doesn’t feel that way right now.”

“It does feel that way,” I admit. “I’m not worried. Just kind of…numb.”

“That could be the vodka,” she tells me. “Did you addanyseltzer to these drinks?”

“A splash.” I sink lower on the sofa. “I didn’t see it coming. Not because there weren’t signs—because I didn’twantto see it coming. Because I thought if I kept forging ahead…he’d keep following me.”

Hindsight is a bright light, casting what I should’ve done in contrast to what I did. The funny thing is, I don’t think it would have prevented my breakup with Ben. I think we would have broken up a lot sooner.

“You don’t need him,” Harlow says softly.

“I know.” I take another generous gulp from my drink.

But I wanted him. Wanted the security of constant companionship and support.

I know having a few people in your life who care about you is better than having more who don’t. More is nice, though. I like being able to say “I talk to him regularly” when the topic of my father comes up. I liked being able to say “my boyfriend is moving with me” when someone mentioned how far or expensive New York City is.

Want and need are different. I don’tneedmore, I remind myself.

Harlow’s phone—half tucked under her thigh—lights up, a new notification adding to the many messages littering the screen. I can make out the heart next to Conor’s name from here.

I try to remember the last time Ben texted me nonstop about something. Aboutanything.

I come up blank.

He did text me twenty minutes ago, asking if I made it home safely. I repliedYes, because I’m not petty enough to make him worry about my safety. Even if he’d always dismiss my fears of being kidnapped by saying it was statistically unlikely.

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