Page 40 of Save the Date

Emma felt tears form in the corners of her eyes. Since meeting Will, she’d been able to push down her visceral longing for Ryan and what was supposed to be her future. She’d told herself that in time this new path would be just as good as the old one, but sitting here with Matt, she didn’t have the energy to toe the party line anymore. Even if she had been the one to come up with it.

Because the truth was, up until the night Ryan left, Emma had been living her happy ending. She’d gone home every day to someone she loved, trusted and felt lucky to be with. Sure, there’d been moments of disconnection and annoyance. Ryan had a habit of leaving his socks under the couch only for them to be discovered days later covered in dust. And he often didn’t verbally respond when Emma was rambling about something insignificant. But none of that outweighed the joy she got from being his partner. Ryan was the guy that had bought every type of apple in the grocery store so they could meticulously figure out her favorite one, something she’d never once thought to do for herself.

And now he was gone.

Matt reached across the table and took her hand. Surprised, Emma willed her body to relax as his strong, long fingers wrapped themselves around her short, clammy ones. “You know, all my buddies told me I was crazy to meet you. They think I should be out hooking up and letting loose for once. But I’m really glad I’m here. Even if everyone else thinks we’re nuts.”

Emma squeezed his hand, and stopped herself from calling out his harmful use ofcrazyandnuts. “I am too.”

After a delicious dinner and a return to less emotionally charged topics, Emma and Matt made their way outside. He had not only insisted on paying but offered to cover her valet fee, which was both extremely courteous and unnecessary. Spending ten dollars plus tip to find a compassionate (and rich) potential husband was a steal in Emma’s opinion.

As they waited for their cars to arrive, Matt shifted awkwardly from one foot to another. It was Emma’s first glimmer of the guy who assumed the office manager was out of his league. “I had a really nice time. You’re an amazing listener.”

“I do do it for a living,” Emma teased.

“I guess… I’m not totally sure how this all works.”

“I’m not either,” Emma admitted. “But maybe we can see each other again soon and try to figure it out?”

“I’d like that,” Matt replied, and it looked like he meant it.

Emma’s Honda CRV rolled up in front of them. “This is me.” She turned toward Matt for a hug but instead he leaned down and gave her the softest, sweetest kiss on the cheek.

Emma was thrown by how much she liked it.

Seventeen

EMMA FELT FAINT AS SHE STOOD IN THE HALL OUTSIDE HERapartment. A large part of her hoped she would pass out so she could avoid what was about to happen. Emma hadn’t been back to the home she’d shared with Ryan since the first week after the breakup—now more than a shocking two months behind her. Each previous visit had been a recovery mission where she’d tried to stuff as many things as possible into her parents’ suitcases before fleeing. But now she was here to stay. At least for a few hours.

After some annoying back-and-forth with Will, Emma had offered her westside apartment as a space for their first production meeting. Emma had bristled at the thought of returning to Will’s place so quickly after his rejection, and her parents’ house wasn’t viable on account of their personalities. She didn’t need her mom and dad sporadically interrupting what was already going to be tricky conversation with her ex-fling-­turned-podcasting-partner. So, without thinking, Emma offered up the unused two-bedroom apartment her father had so far failed to find a subletter for. At the time of her suggestion, her higher self thought the location might be good for the story and jogsome important memories—but her current self knew it was a terrible idea.

As the lock turned and Emma opened the door to step onto the floating fake hardwood floor, she braced for a wave of emotional pain. While Emma had originally found the place with her old roommate—another classmate from her grad program who had already quit the field to start a juice business—she could barely remember that iteration of the space. In Emma’s memory, this place belonged to her and Ryan, which was why it was so startling to realize all traces of him were gone.

A ball of dust sat where Ryan’s armchair used to be, and the kitchen walls looked sparse without his baseball-themed artwork. Half the books were missing from the media center’s shelves and the overhead light was struggling to make up for the absent floor lamp. She knew that if she looked in the kitchen drawers, anything other than the most basic necessities would be gone. Ryan was the chef in the relationship, and Emma was the picky eater. Maybe that was part of the problem.

Despite having to pee, Emma avoided going deeper into the space than absolutely necessary. Her heart wasn’t ready to see the bedroom where they’d once tried to spice things up with a schoolgirl costume, only to fall all over themselves laughing instead. She didn’t even want to go into the guest bathroom, where Ryan had held her hair back as she puked in the sink since the toilet grossed her out. Poor Ryan had had to scoop up the chunks that wouldn’t go down the drain. It was completely disgusting but he did it with a smile.

Now, Emma wondered if Ryan had secretly added that moment to the con list while privately evaluating their relationship. Not knowing killed her. Was it possible to love someone enough to clean up their puke with a Solo cup, or did that level of intimacy slowly erode any chance at a lasting romance? She wished she knew before her acid reflux inevitably acted up again.

As Emma contemplated where to sit in a home that had once been as familiar to her as her own brain, there was a knock on the door. She took a deep breath and only slightly limped over to open it.

“I come bearing gifts,” Will announced with a podcast mic in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. He was dressed casually in jeans and a Henley shirt, but something about the way the fabric clung to him sprung Emma right back to the last time they’d been in the same physical space together. It angered her that she was no longer allowed to reach out and stroke him. Their window for stroking had been far too short.

“Do you try to get all your subjects drunk before you interview them, or am I special?”

“The wine is for after. As a celebration for baring your soul and giving up a Saturday.”

“In that case, come on in.” Emma moved to the side as Will entered the apartment. She watched him assess her once-shared living space and wondered if it was what he expected. Or if he noticed all the missing books and marks on the walls from artwork that no longer belonged to her. Allowing him inside felt like showing someone an open wound and giving them permission to poke around in it.

“Where do you want to set up?”

“Probably the dining room table.” Emma gestured to the six-person oak table that was a hand-me-down from Jackie’s starter house. It was by far the most expensive thing in the apartment even though Jackie had referred to it as “a piece of junk” because it had a single stain.

Will pulled out a seat in the middle and Emma joined him on the opposite side, immediately putting her elbows on the table as she anxiously rubbed her hands. She wondered if Will felt as calm as he looked or if he was just a premier professional.

“I brought the mics, but we don’t have to start recordingtoday if you aren’t up for it. We can just talk through the plan for the show and figure out some logistics.”

“I’m okay to record. As long as I get to decide what we keep.”

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