Page 9 of Save the Date

“Wait. Sorry. What do you mean Ryan left? Are you okay?”

It was a good question. Was she okay? In the immediate sense, yes. She was still alive. She was still breathing. She was able to feed herself when she was hungry and bathe herself when she was dirty. But in a larger sense, Emma feared she would never be the same again. Unless she managed to pull off the impossible and convince this man to marry her in approximately five and a half months so she didn’t have to give up on love. Or herself.

“It’s been tough. I didn’t see it coming—at all—so the last few weeks have been…hard.” By which she meant soul crushing and completely destabilizing. “But my support system has been great. They’ve really encouraged me to move forward and not let Ryan’s complete lack of empathy ruin my life for any longer than it has to.”

“I agree with them. Fuck that guy. You deserve better.” Tony smiled at her, and Emma felt her insides move.

“I just realized I’m not actually thirsty. Do you want to get out of here?” The words were out of her mouth before she even understood the implication, but Tony seemed unfazed.

“Sure.”

Emma smiled. When it came to Tony, “sure” was the most enthusiastic commitment one could get. Not bad for a pity hang.

***

Everything looked exactly the same, from theI Love Lucymemorabilia to the Urban Outfitters record player she’d bought him for their one-year anniversary. The only indication that any time had passed since Emma had last been in Tony’sHolly­wood apartment was his receding hairline. And her extra seventeen pounds. It seemed bodies changed far faster than stuff needed to be replaced.

“Is a bowl okay? I also have some joints.”

Emma broke away from trying to see if he had at least added any new books to his bookshelf to find Tony holding the same pipe they’d used back when they were together. She tried not to think about how many other women’s lips had sucked on it in the interim.

“Let’s do a joint.”

“You got it, toots.”

Tony went to rummage through a drawer in his brightly tiled kitchen and Emma was reminded that despite being born in 1987, Tony was a relic from another time. He worshipped Lucille Ball and almost exclusively listened to music from before 1965—with the notable exception of Blink and a few other pop-punk bands. Unlike most Angelenos, Tony never wore sweatpants or sneakers and actually dressed up for air travel. He firmly believed everything in society went to shit after Nat King Cole died. Minus, you know, all the newfound civil liberties. Tony seemed to long for a version of the past that had never actually existed. Emma wondered if, in some way, she was doing the same thing.

“Here.” Tony went to hand her the weed and lighter before stopping himself. “Oh wait, let me start it for you.”

Emma smiled and didn’t mention that since they last smoked, she had finally learned how to light her own joint at the ripe age of thirty. It was nice to have someone do it for her. And even nicer to feel the effects of the drug strip (some of) her anxiety away. They sat next to each other on the couch, passing the joint back and forth, neither acknowledging that their legs were touching.

“Is it weird that this doesn’t feel weird?” Emma eventually said.

“Why would it feel weird? We’ve smoked on this couch like hundreds of times.”

“We also haven’t seen each other in person in over two years. I lived with someone else and almost married him.”

“That’s not saying much though. You try to marry everyone.”

Now it was Emma’s turn for a playful shove—although it wasn’t that playful. She’d always known she’d wanted to get married. She just hadn’t been aware of how loudly she had been broadcasting it.

“What was he like?” Tony asked while removing some ash from his tongue.

“Ryan? I honestly don’t know. My whole conception of him has changed since he left. The way he acted at the end, leaving like that without any warning. It’s made me think I didn’t know him at all.” Emma let out a long puff and shared the thought that had slowly been burning a hole inside her soul. “Maybe it’s not possible toreallyknow anyone.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Of course you can’t really know anyone. That’s what makes life interesting.” He turned to face her on the couch. “Like right now. I can listen to you and nod and say the right stuff, but you have no way of knowing that at the same time I’m also trying to figure out how I can get a burrito.”

“You’re thinking about a burrito right now?”

“Among other things, yeah. That’s what’s great about the brain. It’s just for you.”

“That doesn’t freak you out? That you can share your entire life with another person and not know what they’re actually thinking or feeling?”

“Depends on the person. I pretty much always knew what you were thinking or feeling because you couldn’t stop yourself from saying it out loud.”

Emma’s face got hot. Oversharing wasn’t something she wasparticularly proud of. “I keep my true thoughts from my clients all the time—that’s like ninety-five percent of being a therapist.”

“I’m sure they can still tell. You don’t have much of a poker face.”

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