Page 1 of The Breakup Artists

prologue

While I don’t believe in soulmates and I’m not convinced true love isn’t just a pretty idea used to sell movies and holiday cards, the fact that we’re helping people matters.

last summer

I get out of my Jeep Wrangler (or rather Valentine’s Jeep that I’m pretending is mine) in the parking lot of the Italian restaurant where Alice, Valentine, and I hung out for the first time three weeks ago. I’m exactly on schedule—her boyfriend is always late and I’m aiming to be nothing like him. And while I’m usually on time in general, she doesn’t know that, because the truth is she doesn’t know anything about me, not really.

Alice spots me from across the lot and runs up as the Jeep door clicks shut, all smiles, throwing her arms around my neck for a quick hug. It’s hard to believe this is the same girl I met three weeks ago. She was quiet, hiding herself behind oversized hoodies with her arms always crossed.

Now she’s all big energy—shoulders back and head held high. “You’re here!” she squeals.

I laugh, but before I get a word out, she’s talking. Fast. “Oh my god. I did it. Don’t get me wrong, I fully planned on doing it, but part of me thought I’d chicken out, ya know? But nope, I broke up with him!” She puts her hand on her forehead in disbelief, jostling her blond-tipped curls.

I lean back against the Jeep door. “How’d he take it?”

“Just like you said. First he was confused. Then upset, blaming me for everything. And then he cried and swore he’d change. How did you know he’d—”

I shrug. “He’s a guy. I’m a guy. We’re simple creatures.”

“Well, maybe, but he’s nothing like you,” Alice says, and now she’s leaning in, close enough that I can smell her citrus body lotion.

And before I can redirect, she wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me. Her eyes are closed. I know this because I see them, because my eyes are open. I also know how long this kiss will last. Three seconds. This is a thank-you kiss. They’re never long.

Three... two... one...

She pulls away. “Thank you,” she says.

See.

She steps back and I feel my face flush.

“I didn’t do anything,” I reply, some of my embarrassment leaking into my voice.

“But you did. I was in a... not-so-good place and...”

“And you pulled yourself out of it,” I say, giving her full credit—not me, not Valentine, not weeks of strategizing to help—just her.

Alice nods. “I knew he was every kind of wrong for me. I just hadn’t checked in with myself in so long that I didn’t know who I was anymore.” She spreads her arms and the corners of her mouth tilt up. “But tell me, what do you see when you look at me now?”

I smile back. “Hmmm...” I say, drawing out my answer, because this is my favorite part—the happy aftermath of an overdue breakup. “I see someone who’s creative and funny; someone who’s interesting and kind.”

Now it’s her turn to blush. Her gaze wanders to my lips, indicating she’s definitely considering kissing me again, and so I start talking and shift my weight so there’s more distance between us.

“I’m really happy for you, Alice,” I say, choosing the perfect line to begin our end.

“Maybe even happy for...us?” she asks with a hopeful smile.

This isn’t the first time someone wanted something more, but it’s never my goal. Valentine and I try to show up as exactly the friends the person needs to see their life more clearly. Often all it takes is us believing in them and reminding them they’re great. But sometimes that kindness gets confused for a more intimate connection. “The thing is...” I say, holding back the rest of my sentence. Only there is no rest of the sentence. But she doesn’t know that.

RULE #13 – Don’t linger when the job’s completed. Get out before things get complicated.

With each passing second, the silence gets louder.

“Chris?” she says (my name is actually August), and when I don’t immediately answer, she follows up with, “What’s wrong? You can tell me.”

I shake my head and say the words I’ve said to two other people this summer. “I wasn’t supposed to leave for another two months, but...”

She takes a step back, hoping I don’t say what she knows I’m going to.