Page 56 of Seven Rules for Breaking Hearts

I pressed my lips together as Jo handed her card to the clerk and he bagged up the T-shirt. I know. That was the only reply I could conjure up, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud. I knew I would regret not going on the date with Declan, and I couldn’t help being a little annoyed at myself for it. That I’d finally given in to wanting something from someone else. And it was more than just the sex, though I wanted that, too.

Actually, now that I thought about it, I was also kind of annoyed at myself for feeling annoyed. Like I’d let the podcast—this whole lifestyle we invented—sink its claws into me and make me feel guilty for something that was perfectly normal. We’d conceived Seven Rules as a response to all the pressures and shame society put on single women, but what was the point if all we’d done was invent new ways to shame ourselves along the way? This wasn’t what it was supposed to be about. This guilt I was feeling—it wasn’t empowering. And now that I was really thinking about it, that kind of defeated the whole purpose.

Jo finished checking out and we exited the shop back onto the street. It was dark now, the old stucco buildings and golf carts along the curb illuminated by yellowish streetlights. We walked along the sidewalk, past the locals drinking on the patio of a cantina, mariachi music spilling out into the street. “How’s your mom been?” she asked. Maybe she was changing the subject because she’d picked up on my surly silence. “She’s still planning on coming to the wedding, right?”

“Of course. She wouldn’t miss it.” I tried to shake the confusion swirling in my brain, focus on something else, because dwelling on it wasn’t making matters any simpler. “She’s good, I think, but I get the feeling she’s bored ever since I moved out. We actually talked about dating last night, believe it or not.”

“Her dating, or you dating?” Jo waggled a brow.

Okay, so maybe she hadn’t changed the subject entirely. “Her dating.”

“Oh, God. I can already picture it. Your mom could be a total cougar.”

I snorted. “I’d prefer not to have a twenty-year-old stepdad. But really, I just want her to do what makes her happy. Though if she had her way, that’d probably be me moving home. Easier to make your kid keep you company than figure out how to use Bumble.”

“Do parents even use Bumble? I thought they just met people in the fruit section of the grocery store, picking out cantaloupes or something.”

We reached the hotel and crossed the lobby to the stairs. The elevator still looked to be out of order—not that I was eager to take it, after what happened last night. We hiked the stairs to the third floor, where Jo should have broken away to head to her room. Instead, she stopped in the stairwell, clutching the black plastic bag from her recent purchase to her chest. “Speaking of moving home,” she said offhandedly, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the apartment.”

Oh. That. Just another conversation I’d strategically avoided for the past several weeks. But it seemed tonight was a night for getting things out into the open. If she wanted to have this conversation here, in this echoey industrial stairwell, then so be it. “I figure you’re going to get a place with Peter, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but what about you? The rent’s kind of high by yourself.”

I shrugged a shoulder, leaned my back against the steel arm rail. “I can find a roommate or something.”

“I was thinking I could help you buy out of the lease early. If you want.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t expected that. The lease wasn’t due to end until November, and I hadn’t really thought through what I would do afterward. If I broke it early, then I could probably stay with my mom for a while to save money. Which maybe wasn’t a bad thing—I’d get to spend time with Cat Benatar, try to figure out what I wanted to do with my life without the pressure of paying a three-thousand-dollar rent by myself each month. “Usually, when you get married, I’m supposed to be the one giving you a gift, not the other way around.”

“You already got me the kayaking trip,” she reminded me. “We signed the lease together, we break it together. I’d be a pretty shitty friend if I left you hanging.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“All right.” She shoved the plastic bag into my arms. “This is for you.”

I pinched the plastic between two fingers and held it at arm’s length, like it was full of toxic sludge. “Why?”

“Because I bought it for you.”

“You bought me a T-shirt with a worm in sunglasses,” I said flatly. I dug the T-shirt out of the bag and held it up to inspect it more closely. Fishing for fun on Catalina Island, read the ugly Comic Sans letters across the top. Great. So the worm was fish food. An omen for when I was going to inevitably throw myself overboard on the ferry ride home rather than deal with the consequences of my actions.

She shrugged. “It reminds me of you. You think you’re playing it cool, but really you’re all …” I could tell she was racking her brain for something to make this gift make sense.

“Slimy?” I volunteered. “Covered in dirt?”

“According to Liv, earthworms actually symbolize a fresh start. New beginnings.”

I shook my head, laughing. “I can’t believe you just tried to draw a comparison between me and a cartoon worm.”

“You’re welcome.”

We stood there, neither of us sure whether we should stay or go. I could’ve jogged up the stairs to my floor, Jo could’ve disappeared down the hall to her room, but instead the pair of us were hanging around an empty stairwell, like there was something more that still needed to be said. Maybe there was. I chewed my lip. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

She nodded, like she’d been expecting that.

“How would you feel about coming up with some other content for Season Seven? I don’t really … I mean, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with what we have planned anymore.” I’d known it for a while now, but admitting it out loud made me feel restless. Fidgety. Like I was opening myself up to judgment and prying questions about what all this was supposed to mean when the truth was, I was still struggling to figure it out. I crossed my arms, but it felt awkward with the plastic bag in my hand, so I uncrossed them again. “You know, now that the situation has changed,” I finished lamely.

Jo nodded. “That’s fine by me.” When I frowned, she squeezed my arm and added, “No, seriously, I get it.”