Page 2 of Save the Date

Debbie stopped stroking Emma’s back, unsure of what this seemingly random declaration meant. But like any good mom, she remained determined to be supportive. “That’s right. You have a book deal, a YouTube channel, and a thriving private practice. I know your heart is shattered right now, but you have a full life. Ryan was just a part of it, not the whole thing.”

Years of therapy talk had clearly rubbed off on her mother by osmosis, but Emma wasn’t in the position to take any of it in just yet. So instead, she channeled her teenage self and shouted, “No, you don’t get it! He’s ruined my book deal. How can I write a book about the secret to maintaining healthy relationships when mine just imploded? I’m going to have to give the money back and die from shame instead.” She looked at her father pleadingly. “Can I slowly die at home? In my old room? You won’t even notice!”

“I think we would notice if you were slowly dying in the guest room.”

“Guestroom? You said it would always bemyroom! This is even worse than I thought!”

And with that, Emma collapsed once again on the carpet. Face rash be damned.

Two

IT HAD BEEN THREE WHOLE WEEKS SINCE RYAN WALKEDout, and Emma was proud of her ability to not let her heartbreak interfere with her work. Sure, she was a complete shell of herself outside of client sessions and had basically abandoned her apartment because it felt too sad to live there alone—not that she could afford to live there alone anyway. But finding a subletter was rather low down on a to-do list that included things like “shower without crying” and “remember how to smile.”

On top of her struggle to complete basic tasks, Ryan had finally called last night for the first time since they broke up and she kept replaying their interaction in her head. Emma had answered on the first ring, completely confident that he’d changed his mind and wanted her back. Why call and not text if it wasn’t to declare he’d made a huge mistake? She’d even answered the phone like she used to when they were a couple and not mortal enemies.

“Go for Emma,” she’d said hopefully into the phone, expecting him to finish their normal call-and-response with “Go for Ryan.”

Instead, he had replied with a stoic “Hey.”

Emma felt the hope drain out of her but, like an idiot, she forged ahead instead of hanging up. “I’m glad you called. I miss you so much.”

“Yeah, so I’m just calling because I need to get my stuff. And I was wondering when would be a good time to come by. I’m assuming you don’t want to be there.”

“Why would you assume that?”

“I don’t know. It just seems like it would be…unnecessary. It’s better if we both start to move on, right?”

Move on?It had only been three weeks. Images of Ryan on dates with girls who weren’t as picky about food as she was flashed through Emma’s mind, but she squashed those thoughts so she could focus. She had to be strategic if she had any shot at changing his mind.

“Don’t you think we have things to discuss? Like why you suddenly can’t stand to be in the same room with me? This whole decision seems pretty impulsive.”

Ryan sighed like Emma was a coworker who had gotten the wrong message after a particularly friendly happy hour and he now had to bring her back to reality. “I’m trying not to give you any false hope. I know how you operate. I don’t want to show up to get my stuff only for you to launch into a preplanned speech to convince me I’m making a mistake. Because I’m not. This is what’s best—for both of us.”

Emma felt shocked by his coldness and insistence that there was absolutely no wiggle room. Ryan was famously indecisive. He had once returned a pair of Banana Republic pantstwodifferent times before deciding to keep them. If only he had given their relationship that amount of consideration, they might still be getting married.

“You clearly have no idea what’s best for me. I think that’s evident by the careless way you have handled this whole thing.”

“Fine. Then I’m doing what’s best for me. I hope you can—”

Emma didn’t hear the rest of his request because she had chucked her phone across the room.

An hour later, once she was done hyperventilating, they emotionlessly agreed over text that he would grab his stuff the following Saturday while Emma stayed at her parents’ house. She didn’t mention she had been with her parents every night since Ryan left—she knew it would make him feel better about the whole thing. He’d assume he didn’t have to care about her well-being because her family was there to pick up the pieces of what he’d left behind, as if heartbreak was something that could be evenly distributed between a group to reduce individual suffering. If that were true, she’d have a lot fewer clients.

Now that she was living with her parents again, she had reverted to angsty teenage behavior outside of the office, which included a lot of rage-singing along to breakup songs and refusing to eat anything other than bagels and pizza. At work though, she’d been able to compartmentalize and keep it professional. Until now, apparently.

“At least he hasn’t left you yet,” Emma blurted out to the couple in front of her without thinking.

“Excuse me?” Leah, the wife, asked with a bit of a bite.

Emma rearranged herself into a more professional stance in her therapist chair and tried to correct her completely inappropriate comment. “I just mean, despite all the arguments and the fighting and the periods of not speaking to each other, you have both stayed. And that is no small feat.”

Emma waited with bated breath to see if her reframe would stick. She figured flattery would work on Patrick, a hotshot tech executive with the emotional intelligence of a seven-year-old, but Leah was smart. Emma might need to repair this thera­peutic rupture by disclosing her broken engagement and she wasn’t sure she was ready to do that yet without sobbing; no one comes to couples therapy to comfort their lovesick therapist.

“I guess that’s a good point,” Leah conceded, reaching over to take Patrick’s hand. He squeezed hers back and cracked a grin.

“Good luck getting rid of me,” Patrick said to his wife before turning back to Emma and adding, “We have an airtight prenup and I don’t want to lose the house.”

Emma smiled in response to the tasteless joke, praying her face didn’t reveal her disdain. As a therapist she cared about all her clients. As a person she hated a good ten percent of them. “Why don’t you tell me more about how your date night went? Were you able to get a babysitter in time?”

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