Page 3 of Save the Date

As Leah launched into a tirade about the lack of “good help” in the area, Emma let her mind wander. Her eyes drifted to Patrick’s cell phone on the couch, and she felt a now-familiar pang of guilt that she hadn’t posted anything on YouTube since Ryan walked out. Part of the reason her audience had grown so much was because she’d let them see inside her own relationship while also providing mental health advice and debunking myths around psychology. What had started as an educational channel about couples therapy—hence the name Neutral Third Party—had slowly transformed into something far more personal and expansive without Emma even realizing it. Her most popular video wasn’t when she’d spent over an hour breaking down the Gottman’s four horsemen of the apocalypse in relationships (criticism, stonewalling, defensiveness and contempt); it was when she and Ryan played the newlywed game for seventeen minutes because they were bored one night. Over the last year, she’d somehow gone from posting occasionally to getting yelled at in the comments if she went a week without uploading. And now she had almost skipped an entire month.

Emma knew she’d need to make more content soon if she wanted to keep her large fan base, but the idea of publicly announcing her broken engagement made her want to hurl. Why had she made Ryan a part of her channel? At the time it hadseemed innovative—including her actual partner to teach people about healthy relationships—but now it seemed more misguided than Patrick signing that airtight prenup. Even if Ryan’s involvement had skyrocketed her subscribers from a few thousand to nearly half a million. Maybe all those colleagues who talked shit behind her back at mental health conferences had been right the whole time: fame does ruin your professional credibility. And maybe your sanity.

“I just don’t get why it’s so hard to find someone comfortable with our indoor security cameras,” Leah lamented. “It’s not like I want to watch you picking your nose. We only have them for emergencies. You understand that, right?”

Emma found herself nodding even though she was barely listening. Her mind had once again returned to her phone call with Ryan as Leah continued to bemoan Gen Z’s obsession with privacy in the background. Emma found herself stuck on whether Ryan had always had this capacity for coldness and she had just missed it somehow. But as her mind flicked backward all she saw was his kindness. Like how he had spent months trying to prepare vegetables in a way that didn’t make her scrunch her nose at the sight of them (Szechuan sauce and a lot of garlic). Or how he bought a Kindle so he wouldn’t keep her up at night with the light on when it became clear her (extremely) early bedtime was not sustainable for him. He was the kind of guy who called his mom on the ride home from work and helped clear the table when everyone else was still chatting. He was agood guy. Even their shared dentist had told her so!

“Can we talk more about Leah’s aversion to blowjobs?” Patrick interjected, breaking Emma out of her spiral. “Because babysitter or no babysitter, I think that is really getting in the way of our connection.”

Clearly now was not the right time for an existential crisis. She’d have to fit one in later.

“Do you think I should just give back the book advance?” Emma asked her older sister, Jackie, as they waited for their parents to serve dinner.

Jackie was only five years Emma’s senior but was already ten years into a fulfilling marriage with her college sweetheart. Jackie had spotted Chris at a bar her senior year, declared to a friend, “I’m going to marry that man,” and had then managed to pull it off. It was classic Jackie; everything she ever wanted for herself came true with minimal to no effort. She genuinely didn’t seem to know what it meant to struggle outside of strenuous exercise. Meanwhile, all Emma had ever wanted—and still failed to procure—was the safety and security of a life partner who was legally bound to her. The ache of her singleness hit harder now that she had comesoclose to never having to attend a family event alone again. But here she was, back to being a perpetual fifth wheel at the Moskowitz dining room table. Even her two nieces had each other.

“Why would you ever give money back?” Jackie asked, perplexed. She looked at her husband for back-up. Chris was furiously typing something on his phone next to her. When he didn’t immediately agree, she nudged him with her elbow.

“Never give back money,” Chris declared, finally looking up. “Especially if you haven’t been sued yet.” Chris owned his own trading firm after stumbling into commodities by accident. Now he and Jackie had a huge house, multiple babysitters and a large willingness to dispense financial advice whenever appropriate (or inappropriate). Unfortunately, little of it was applicable to someone on a therapist’s income who no longer got to split her bills with a partner. Yet another unfair aspect of singledom.

“I don’twantto give it back. But let’s be real. I’m in no position to write about sustaining healthy relationships. I shouldjust change professions. Do you think I’m too physically weak to work with my hands?”

Jackie and Chris seemed to be seriously debating the question when Debbie appeared out of nowhere with a large salad and a hefty dose of motherly encouragement.

“You are not changing professions. You help your clients every single day.” She put the salad down and joined them at the table. No matter what the family was eating for dinner, it was always preceded by a large salad.

Alan appeared next, holding a water pitcher for the table and one can of Coke for himself. Alan’s dinner Coke was another sacred Moskowitz ritual.

“I feel there’s an opportunity for a joke here,” Emma said with a sigh. “Something like those who can’t do, teach, and those who can’t maintain a relationship, give relationship advice for a living.”

“What about ‘relationship coaches don’t play’?” Chris generously offered.

“Oh my god, I bet I’ll have to become alife coachafter this because no one will take me seriously anymore.”

There was nothing worse in the professional mental health community than a nonlicensed life coach who told people what to do without any proper training. Although, at the moment, Emma could see the appeal of not having to make her own decisions. Maybe she should dump her own rational, measured therapist for a twenty-three-year-old wellness influencer who would take complete control of her life. Seemed easier than properly processing her grief.

“Stop it,” Debbie interjected. “You are more than capable of maintaining a healthy relationship.” Debbie was now serving the salad and dropping large pieces of lettuce all over the place despite years of practice.

Emma smiled at her mother’s clumsiness. She knew despite everything that had happened, she was lucky to have such astrong support system. No one important in her life had reacted to the news of Ryan abruptly leaving with anything other than bloodcurdling rage on Emma’s behalf. Even her own normally stoic therapist had broken character to indignantly call him an asshole. Emma kept waiting for someone to suggest that he must have left for areason, but so far no one had blamed her in the slightest. Now if only she could figure out a way to stop blaming herself. But that kind of unbridled self-compassion was hard to come by, even with the assistance of psychotropic medication.

“I’m confused,” Jackie interjected. “Didn’t you already write this book? Isn’t that why you couldn’t watch Amelia when I had to get my face waxed? You told me you were ‘near the end of the book’ and couldn’t risk ‘losing steam’ months ago.”

“Wow, I didn’t realize you listened closely enough to quote me,” Emma teased.

Jackie ignored the subtle jab. She was the aloof one in the Moskowitz family, but if there was ever a crisis, Jackie was the first to arrive on scene, often with retail therapy shopping bags in hand. She had even threatened to “confront” Ryan on multiple occasions without explaining what that would entail. Luckily for Ryan’s fragile ego, and maybe his windshield, Emma had said it wouldn’t be necessary.

“But you’re right,” Emma said. “I did finish the first draft of the book. The only issue is that half of it is about how wonderful my relationship is with Ryan.”

“Can’t you just cut those parts?” Chris asked.

“And fill it with what exactly? How many hours I’ve spent psychoanalyzing the characters inFriends?” Emma was only half joking. She had once spent an entire afternoon making a YouTube video that proved Phoebe was actually the most emotionally mature and resilient one in the group. Rachel fans had come for her, but the Joey fans got it.

“I guess when you really break it down—which I have duringmany early-morning hours when I should be asleep—I no longer feel qualified to write this book. I feel like a fraud who couldn’t even make a relationship last long enough to walk down the aisle.”

“Please!” Jackie responded with the authority of a world leader. “What happened to you wasn’t your fault. Ryan didn’t leave because you were a bad partner—he left because he’s a spineless coward with no concept of what commitment actually looks like. Do you know how many times I’ve fantasized about leaving Chris when he’s snoring so loudly I want to rip my extensions out?”

“Uh…no.” Emma sneaked a look at Chris, who didn’t seem offended in the slightest.

“About a billion times.” She turned to Chris. “And how many times have you wanted to leave me during my ninety-minute skin-care routine that keeps the lights on in the bathroom?”

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