Page 117 of The Comeback Summer

“You choose,” I say.

“Let’s do the 2005 movie. But only if—”

“We can watch the hand-flex scene as many times as you want,” I say, smiling.

“And the first proposal in the rain?”

I nod. “Sure.”

“Thanks.” Libby takes a shaky breath. “But don’t you have plans with Josh?”

“He’ll understand.”

She makes a sour face. “Please don’t tell him what happened.”

“I won’t. I’ll just tell him I need some sister time.”

And I do—the fact that things got this serious between Libby and Adam and I had no clue makes it clear that we’ve drifted further apart than I realized.

“Joy’s andP&Pand wine sounds good,” she says, wiping her eyes. “Although that seems an awful lot like the comfort zone I’m supposed to be crushing.”

I grab Libby’s hand and pull her upright. “Sometimes your comfort zone is exactly what you need.”

Thirty-Nine

LIBBY

I’ve had a lot of bad days in my life. But today—when Adam walked into the office and saw Hannah, then me—was the worst by far.

I should have known this wouldn’t end well. I was literally living out the miscommunication trope I despise in so many romance novels: when the couple has a problem that could be solved with one honest conversation, but instead, they ignore it, letting it simmer until it all boils over. I’ve literally thrown books across the room, shouting, “Just talk to each other, dammit!”

But now I understand why so many authors write this: because it’s realistic. Opening up to someone you care about, having hard conversations that require vulnerability, can be terrifying. Which is exactly why I, a grown-ass woman, kept information from Adam that I knew would come out at some point.

It’s nearly midnight, and I’m snuggled up in bed with Mr.Darcy purring on the pillow beside me, but I can’t sleep. Hannah’s suggestion to comfort myself with a favorite movie and meal was a nice distraction, but now, with nothing else tooccupy my mind, I can’t stop ruminating about everything that went wrong.

I wish I could go back in time and do it over, being braver from the start. Then maybe we could’ve lasted more than twenty-four hours. Our relationship was like a comet or a shooting star—whichever one it is that burns fast, then disappears.

This is what I get for trying to pretend I have main-character energy. Not everyone can be the steak. Someone has to be the mashed potatoes.

Mmm. Mashed potatoes.Is it too late for mashed potatoes?Tonight, it’s not.I reach for my laptop and get as far as opening the food delivery website when I remember a journaling exercise I did the other day.

The question was about what we turned to for comfort when we were younger. At the time, I couldn’t remember anything specific, so I wrote that Hannah and I always comforted each other. I realize now that isn’t true. As the big sister, I felt like it was my responsibility to be there for her, to comfort her. Which left me to my own devices, finding a way to take care of myself.

A distant memory comes into focus. I’m eight years old, and Hannah and I are hiding in the pantry, finishing off a sleeve of Oreos. She was there for the game of it—the secretive nature of our NTNT moments, while I was laser focused on the cookies.

That day, I was mad at my dad because he’d made a comment about my shirt being too tight. My mom said it must have shrunk in the wash, but it hadn’t shrunk. I’d gotten bigger.

I remember standing in there, a glimmer of light shining through the pantry door as I bit into the cookie. It tasted likecomfort, but also revenge. I knew my turning to food would hurt my dad, but I didn’t realize it was hurting me, too.

I’m tired of hiding away and avoiding my feelings by indulging myself with comfort food—cookies or mashed potatoes. Not that there’s anything wrong with finding comfort in favorite foods; it’s the habit of turning to those instead of confronting what’s really going on that can be problematic.

I know what I need to do. Before I lose my nerve, I close the delivery website and open my email browser.

Adam,

I’m sorry. Those two little words are nowhere near enough, but they’re all I’ve got. You trusted me, and I wasn’t honest with you.

I don’t know if it matters, but I wasn’t trying to mislead you. I was protecting myself because I care about you, and that scared me. The last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you.

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