Page 85 of Past Present Future

They’re the best seven words in the English language.

Slowly, I nod, because even though I still barely know this girl, she is here, and she’s listening, and those are apparently the only two qualifications for me to spill.

I only tell her parts of the story, unsure I can condense my history with Neil into a fifteen-minute conversation. She just listens. Asks if I’ve been hydrating and if I’ve eaten yet today.

When I shake my head, she disappears downstairs and comes back up with two plates and a bottle of water precariously balanced in her arms.

“This is—extremely nice of you,” I say in between bites of pasta.

“You may have noticed… I’m not exactly here a lot,” she says. “I went through a bad breakup in August. Right before I left for school. So I decided I’d be as busy as I could, and then the heartbreak wouldn’t be able to find me. I joined a hundred clubs and took way too many credits, even tried a couple sports I was miserable at, and I refused to let myself have any free time.”

Oh.

“Did it work?”

“For a bit,” she says. “But I couldn’t run from it forever.”

“You could tell me about it. If you want.”

She gives me this heavy smile. “Story for another day,” she says. “But about you and Neil…” She trails off, spearing a hunk of manicotti. “I wish I had some kind of advice to give. All I know is that it sucks. It’s a shitty situation, and it sucks, and I’m sorry.”

“Honestly, just hearing that is making me feel a little better. Thank you so much.”

Paulina has a Save the Penguins Club meeting she offers to cancel if I’d rather she stay here to watch movies or talk or just sit in silence with another person, but I wave this off, not wanting to take up more of her time and unsure how much longer I can keep talking.

“Oh—and I have a really excellent breakup playlist,” she says before she leaves again. “If you want.”

When she shares it with me and I hit play, I’m strangely comforted to hear the Smiths as the first song. “Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now.” Could not be more accurate.

On instinct, I reach for my phone. Neil and I didn’t establish any rules for texting, but everything still feels too fresh. I let go, lying back on my bed and closing my eyes, letting Phoebe Bridgers and Kacey Musgraves and Olivia Rodrigo sit in the heartbreak with me.

I think back to that vision of the future again, the one I summoned that snowy night in Seattle, wondering if we can really wait that long to get to a place where we can be wholly independent, and how frightening that sounds, too.

What if all we have is our history, and the new memories we’re making together are too few and far between to matter? I don’t want our entire relationship to be defined by remember whens. Those will only sustain us for so long, and we can’t spend these next three years living in the past.

There’s no shortage of fascinating, beautiful women at NYU. In New York City. I’d hate for him to think he’s still attached to the girl from his hometown just because our relationship is so tangled with high school. There is so much beyond our little bubble, and if he really wanted to, he could have more. Maybe that’s what would make him happier.

He could have someone to grab a casual bite to eat with after class.

Someone he could run to Dunkin’ with in the middle of the night.

Someone to sit next to during Shabbat services.

A gym buddy.

A coffee date.

And maybe… maybe that’s what he deserves. Someone who’s always there, the way I was throughout high school and now cannot possibly be. Maybe this was what my mom meant about not tying ourselves down. She didn’t want our relationship to eclipse every new experience we’d have.

Because if I ever had to choose between Emerson and him, I’m not sure that’s a decision I could make. It would have to be my education, the same way I know it would be for him.

The person who understands me like no one else ever has.

Phoebe and Kacey and Olivia keep me company while I turn these questions over and over. That day in June, I thought Neil might be my big wild love, but after all of this, what if it’s merely a high school relationship? Are we the ones who make it to the happily-ever-after side of the LDR statistic, or the ones who wind up bitter and heartbroken?

I never imagined I’d find my person in high school, but what if I did? How are you supposed to know if it’s worth clinging to with both hands and gritted teeth, heels dug into the dirt?

Or are you supposed to let it go, knowing you might regret it for the rest of your life?

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