Page 60 of The Comeback Summer

ADAMR:It’ll be two years in August

Long enough that Adam likely isn’t looking for a rebound fling. I couldn’t put Hannah through something like that. I relax even more.

HANNAHF:And you called it off?

ADAMR:Not exactly...

Over the next thirty minutes, I’m captivated by the story Adam tells me about his ex, Sarah. They’d been together for three years before he proposed. Of course, I asked how he popped the question, and it sounded super romantic—he re-created their first date, right down to being seated at the same exact table. When the waiter brought their dessert, the words “Will you marry me?” were written in chocolate along the plate. Adam got down on one knee right there, in front of everyone.

It’s the kind of grand gesture I would love but that would make Hannah want to shrivel up and disappear. If their relationship ever gets to the proposal stage, I’ll make sure to tell Adam that less is more when it comes to my sister.

Adam tells me that he and Sarah started planning the wedding right away—they picked the date and the venue,tasted all the hors d’oeuvres and the cake. But instead of it bringing them closer together, Adam felt a distance growing between them. He assumed it was the stress and pressure of the wedding; her parents were pretty controlling about the whole thing. But since they were paying for most of it, he let it go.

The night of the rehearsal dinner, though, something happened. His parents hosted the dinner at his family’s diner. It wasn’t fancy—the restaurant had seen better days—but everything was made with love, and his parents spent hours preparing the place.

It meant a lot to Adam to start the wedding weekend off there, but his future in-laws were less than impressed. They practically said as much, and his future wife didn’t say anything to defend him or his family. After the guests left, Adam and Sarah fought; she implied that she hoped he’d stop working for the family restaurant and get a job that was more suited to the life they wanted to live together.

The lifeshewanted them to live together.

Before they could talk things through, her bridesmaids swept her away to the hotel where she was sleeping for the night. Adam was shaken, but he told himself they’d work through it together. After all, they were about to commit to each other for better or worse.

The next morning, Adam stood in front of two hundred guests, anxiously awaiting his bride. Fifteen minutes after she was supposed to walk down the aisle, the doors opened. The wedding planner walked in and gave him a note from Sarah that simply said,I’m sorry.

The next week, when he was supposed to be on his honeymoon, Adam moved out of the fancy condo he and Sarah hadbought downtown, and into the apartment above the restaurant, where his parents had lived when they were first married.

•••

AS HE FINISHEStyping out the story, my heart hurts for him. I don’t want him to misinterpret my silence, so I type back a quick response.

HANNAHF:I’m sorry you went through all that

ADAMR:You know what they say, that which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger

HANNAHF:Do you really believe that?

I’ve been thinking lately about the lasting impact of painful moments. It didn’t kill me all the times my mom told me I had “such a pretty face.” And it didn’t kill me when J. J. Lyons was willing to make out with me sophomore year so he could cop a feel but didn’t want to be seen in public together. I survived all those moments, but they left scars.

ADAMR:Well, I’m still here, aren’t I?

ADAMR:And besides, if I was married, I wouldn’t have been on this app to meet you

I send back a smiley face, because sometimes, the right words just don’t exist.

ADAMR:Speaking of meeting you, I would love to. In person.

My heart swells—until I remember that he doesn’t want to meetme. He wants to meet the woman in the pictures on the profile. I exhale, then give Adam an answer in my sister’s language.

HANNAHF:That would be 10/10

It’s getting late and we both have to work in the morning, but we settle on plans to meet next Friday. That gives me enough time to prepare Hannah. And to prepare myself for letting him go.

For the first time since this whole challenge began, I consider writing in the journal. But my life feels so... I don’t know. Unimportant. It’s not like I have a story worth documenting. Now, Anne Frank? She had a reason to write in her diary. But Libby Anne Freedman? Not so much.

This whole journal thing just feels so forced and inauthentic. If Lou wanted to know how I was feeling about things in my life, I would tell her. But talking to a person is different than writing to myself. It would feel less weird if I wrote the entries like a letter to her.

Which isn’t a bad idea. I mean, she’s going to read them anyway.

I grab my favorite sparkly gel pen and open to the blank page for tomorrow’s entry.

---