Page 143 of This is a Kissing Book

He shakes his head. “A heart divided cannot stand either. You divided your heart, kept part of yourself hidden from her. Sounds like she did the same.”

He’s right. Now Jules and I are standing in the ruins, wondering what happened. We both built walls, both chose protection over vulnerability. And now we’re paying the price.

I reach for my lucky penny, the one I’ve flipped for every major decision I’ve ever made since I was twelve. But as my fingers close around the worn metal, I realize I don’t need luck for this decision.

I know what I want to do. What I have to do.

Setting the penny aside, I get up and find a pen and paper. If my great-great-great-great-great-grandfather Abraham Lincoln could pour his heart onto paper to win the woman he loved, then so can I.

49

JULES

I should feel better about walking away. That’s what people do when they’ve been lied to, right?

They leave.

They protect themselves.

They don’t look back.

Lying in Oly and Nate’s spare bedroom at three in the morning, staring at the ceiling while they sleep soundly next door, I feel like I’ve been hollowed out with a rusty spoon.

I wish I had my favorite Care Bear to snuggle—the one with the rainbow on its belly that I’ve had since I was seven. Or better yet, a large, strong Clark Kent look-alike who wouldn’t lie about his secret identity for three months.

He was really good at snuggling.

I fit so perfectly in his arms. They were strong, snug, the kind of embrace that I could’ve spent a lifetime inside.

The argument we had in his foyer replays in my mind like the train that I’ll soon have to ride again—looping around the city.

I could’ve gotten used to being a little bit spoiled, too. I mean, the private jet was a bit over the top, but he did notice the little things. My favorite round truffle chocolates in the crinkly wrapping, for instance.

But the truth is, there was a parade’s worth of red flags on both sides. His mystery meetings were probably hockey-related. The gaping hole in his backstory that I should’ve insisted he fill. The gifts could’ve been because he felt guilty.

Then again, I had a few flags of my own—like the forged diploma currently burning a hole in my conscience and pointing to the fact that I didn’t finish college.

I’m not ashamed of that, but the fact that I hid it isn’t a point of pride.

Even when I shut him out, he’d looked unfairly handsome with a hint of stubble along his jaw. Meanwhile, I probably resembled a puffer fish with my tear-streaked face and red-rimmed eyes. I rub my hand across my face, worried that I’m going to break out with acne. Emotional turmoil destroys my skin. The salty tears clog it.

I’m a wreck.

I miss my old studio apartment in Logan Square with its creaky floors and paper-thin walls. I wonder what happened to Screechy and Grumbly—the couple next door whose arguments made me wonder if they were rehearsing for one of the soap operas my mom used to love. Their dramatic fights about whose turn it was to buy milk or whether pineapple belonged on pizza had been oddly comforting background noise to my life—oh, wait. That was a debate Linc and I had.

And was it so bad? We worked out our pizza toppings in the end.

As my tears continue, the scrape of night against the dawn sky begins outside the window, gray bleeding into pale yellow.

Unable to bear being alone, I knock softly on the wall connecting my room to Nate and Oly’s.

“Oly?” I say in a voice barely above a whisper.

It’s not entirely fair of me to wake them up, but they knew they were welcoming an emotionally unstable train wreck into their home. But I don’t plan to be here long. I can’t burden them.

I’ll figure something out, I always do, even if it means going back to Vegas.

A muffled response comes through the thin drywall. I could probably hear their conversations if I wanted to, just like my old neighbors.