Page 113 of Kissing is the Easy Part

A pause.

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” Another pause.

“We’re good,” Jake mutters.

“You staying over too?”

“Yeah. In case he wakes up sobbing in the middle of the night. Can’t leave you to deal with that alone.”

The air mattress hisses as it inflates. Plastic scraping against carpet. Footsteps shuffle, then a heavy sigh.

“This breakup bullshit or what?” Dylan.

“Total bullshit.” Jake. A beat of silence. “I don’t know what more she could want from him.”

The hum of the mini fridge fills the silence.

The last thing I feel is warmth. The weight of a blanket. The steady rise and fall of my own breathing.

Sleep pulls me under again.

* * *

Lindsey sticks a Post-it Note on my door every day. They’re quotes about heartbreak, her way of telling me that I’m not alone. She also writes these ten-years-later stories, in which I’m happy and successful, living my best life.

It’s not going to take me ten years to be okay, right?

“It’s fine to be upset, you know.” She plops down on my bed. “You talk like you’re holding a press conference. Come on, vent away.”

“There’s nothing to vent about.”

“It’d be easier if there was someone to blame, right?”

There’s a reason people hate their exes. It’s a defense mechanism, because getting over someone not at fault is so much harder. I picked a wonderful person as my first love, which is both the best and worst thing about my situation.

Flora wants to stay friends, and I try to keep that promise, just not in the way she imagines. I smile at her, make small talk at my locker, keep things easy for our friends. I never say a bad word about her. But I delete all her texts and stop responding to new ones. They’re meaningless now.

After high school is over, I’ll never contact her again.

Only a few months left to go.

* * *

The aftermath of a breakup isn’t dramatic. It’s slow, repetitive, and quite frankly,boring. Mourningisboring, so I do it alone.

I pretend to be as excited about the trip itinerary as Dylan and Jake are. I collect Lindsey’s notes from my door and add them to the growing pile, not forgetting to reply with a smiley face. I listen to the playlists Josie carefully curates for me. I lay down a perfect report card in front of my parents, assuring them my grades aren’t suffering, and neither am I.

But in the quiet moments when I’m alone, I mourn.

I miss her when I drive to school, stopping at the intersection, wondering if she remembers to flick the blinker. I miss her when I go to the movies and accidentally order caramel-flavored popcorn. I miss her in the early mornings, when the world is hushed and empty. I miss her when I shower, watching the water drops trickle down the drain after I turn off the shower. I miss her before I fall asleep, staring at the ceiling, fighting back silent tears, as I ask oblivion,

Dear Flora, how are you?

Chapter Thirty-nine

Flora

I underestimated Sean’s determination to stayfriends. We’ve become friends in the most meaningless sense, where he treats it like a professional courtesy. He gives me the forced smiles he reserves for random girls who hit on him, answers my questions politely but with that same detached tone. He’s composed and distant, like a news anchor delivering a scripted segment.