Page 130 of The Comeback Summer

ON SATURDAY, Iwake up and go for a long run, then take the hottest shower I can stand, trying not to think about Josh. Unfortunately, I end up crying, holding my hands over my mouth to muffle my sobs.

By the time I come out of the bathroom, Libby has left the apartment without a word or even a note. It feels like a deliberate jab; she knows how I feel about safety, that someone should always know where you are and when you expect to be home.

But I’m determined to stay busy, so I pull out my laptop and sit on my bed and work. At first, it’s strange not having anyone to bounce ideas off, but pretty soon I settle into a groove. My creativity is expanding like a hot-air balloon, rising higher and higher.

When I glance at my calendar for the upcoming week, I realize that Lou is due for another check-in. Uh-oh. My earlier idea—to convince her that I’ve completed the spirit of the challenge—isn’t likely to work anymore since I have no idea what is going to happen with Josh.

But I’ll need to tell Lousomething, and I haven’t been on adate in weeks. So after I eat lunch, I download the One+One app and sign in. While I swipe, I turn on a documentary about a serial killer who used Tinder to find his victims; probably not the best choice, given my current situation, but it’s always good to be prepared for the worst-case scenario.

When my phone dings with an alert, I jump. But it’s not from One+One—it’s a DM on Instagram from a handle I’ve never seen before: @FromJoshToHannah.

Confused, I open the message.

I know we were going to give ourselves a chance to think, but I want to share what I’m doing here, so I created this account.

Internet will be spotty out on the water, so I’ll upload pictures and videos when I can. I’m not sure when you’ll see them, or if any of them will even come through. I hope they do.

No matter what happens between us, Hannah, I want you to know that you’re important to me. And that will never change.

I click over to the feed. Josh has posted pictures of the ship he’ll be embarking on, with a caption describing how they get the vessel ready and load the scientific instruments. In every picture, he looks relaxed, totally in his element. I’m happy for him—but it’s such a contrast to the loneliness I’m drowning in. He’s living his best life, and I’m missing him so much I can’t take a full breath.

I appreciate his attempt at communication; this didn’thappen when he went to Australia. But as I click through the pictures again (Josh smiling at the port, Josh smiling on the ship’s deck, Josh smiling next to a fancy microscope), I wonder what, exactly, he’s trying to tell me.

Confused and heartsick, I close out of the post.

•••

TO MY RELIEF,when I wake up the next morning, I see that Libby came home—her keys are hanging on the hook—but her bedroom door is closed. The sight makes my throat clench. I hate this. I hate the tension. I had stress dreams all last night, and I’m desperate to put this fight behind us.

So even though she hasn’t apologized, I decide to bring back her favorite sugar-free vanilla latte after my run. It’s a splurge—we should be making coffee at home—but it’s an olive branch, an excuse to start a conversation.

When I return, her room is empty aside from her cat, who’s curled up on her pillow, smirking at me. A pit of dread forms in my stomach. She just needs space, I tell myself.

But she’s had three days of space now. There’s no sign of this ending. And the longer it goes, the lonelier I feel.

It hits me all over again, how lucky I was to have her by my side after Josh dumped me back in college. But then again, Libby was partially to blame for that.

A surge of righteous indignation rises inside me, and I choke down the latte out of pure spite. Then I spend the day working on Serena and Preeti’s PR plan and swiping through One+One on my breaks. Every time I consider swiping right, though, my chest tightens. It’s more than the anxiety of meeting someone new; I’m too stuck on Josh, checking his Instagram constantly, disappointed when there isn’t an update.

Finally, as I’m drifting off to sleep, my phone chimes: @FromJoshToHannah has a new post. This time he’s shared underwater pictures of the reef, a selfie in his wet suit and scuba gear, and a video of a dozen teenagers saying “Hi, Hannah,” with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

After that, I read the caption:

Today was a good day. These kids are freaking smart, Han, and so excited to learn. They’re exhausting, too, and they use slang that makes me feel like I’m about fifty-three years old. But overall it’s been awesome.

Oh, and here’s something cool—two members of our crew brought their significant others along. Sanchez brought his girlfriend; she’s a novelist and she uses these excursions to write. And Louisa brought her wife; she comes every year to get a break from the kids. This would be unheard-of on an academic research vessel, but the aquarium allows every excursion up to three “stowaways.” They have to pay for their food and lodging, and they have to pitch in with the chores as part of the crew, but it’s been fun having them around.

All this to say that I keep wishing you were here.

The screen blurs as my eyes fill with tears. I wish I was there, too, but that’s the problem: it doesn’t matter how much we wish for something if it just won’t work.

I think back to our conversation aboutSliding Doors, the idea that we were destined to end up together no matter what. What if it’s the opposite? What if we’re meant to go ourseparate ways, and this is just the universe setting things in order? Like Libby says about second-chance romances: the issue that drove Josh and me apart the first time hasn’t magically resolved.

I can’t explain all this, so I write a quick comment (Looks beautiful! Thanks for sharing), and turn off my phone.

The crocheted meerkat Josh gave me is sitting on my nightstand, and I grab it and hold it close to my chest, like I’m a child with a security blanket. Like if I’m holding on to this, I can somehow hold on to him.

Forty-Five

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