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As Phoebe trudged from the bus stop to her apartment building, arms aching from the weight of the box, a tangled swirl of feelings tried to make themselves heard.

Of course, she was happy for Kayla. Ryan was a nice guy, and they’d been together for four years. If she had stopped to think about it, she would have seen this coming. But she couldn’t deny that a part of her, deep down, felt like she was supposed to get married before the youngest of her siblings. A race to the altar was an absurd concept, of course—her life wasn’t a Jane Austen novel—but the five Keller siblings were, some might say, competitive. Their parents had fostered a competitive culture. When the siblings were kids, their parents would time them to see who could get their shoes on fastest. In high school, they gave monetary rewards based on who got the highest grades each semester.

So it wasn’t like Phoebe was actually jealous that Kayla was engaged before her. A sense of competition with her siblings was simply ingrained in her.

As the elevator whisked her up to the tenth floor, Phoebe looked down into the box of detritus from her desk. There was no denying it: At this year’s family Hanukkah party, Phoebe would be the loser.

The thought of admitting that she’d lost her job as everyone cooed over Kayla’s engagement ring was so deeply unappealing that, by the time she unlocked her front door, Phoebe had decided she was skipping the party this year.

With a box of crackers, a log of goat cheese, and a very full glass of merlot, Phoebe settled onto the couch.

Should she delete her marketing account and beg Brandon for her job back?

The thought felt like an insult. She was proud of the work she’d done. Plus, she was nearing twenty thousand followers, and she didn’t want to mess it up.

Half of the crackers and cheese gone, crumbs littering the front of her sweater, Phoebe sank into the couch cushions and held her phone in front of her nose. 19,876. Seeing the number made some of the tension leave her body. It was a data point that gave her the external validation she’d always craved. Maybe getting fired was the push she needed to get her own business off the ground.

The thought of having a goal—starting her own business—was like a helium balloon, lifting her spirits up, up, up. If she had something to focus on, a goal to achieve, then she wouldn’t have to sit around feeling sorry for herself. That had always been Phoebe’s MO: Feeling bad? Accomplish something! Don’t indulge the bad feelings! Make something of yourself!

And you know what? It always worked.

The family group chat popped up again. This time, it was Sam, the sibling she was closest in age to (he was twenty-nine to Phoebe’s thirty), offering earnest congrats. Knowing Sam, there wasn’t even a hint of snark behind his words. He was a good egg.

With a sigh, Phoebe looked back at the photo of Kayla and Ryan. The radiant delight in her little sister’s face made Phoebe’s heart soften. She hearted the picture and then texted, Congratulations, sis! I’m so excited for you.

She felt a little better after sending this message. But it was immediately followed by an Instagram message from her coworker—former coworker—Ellie, saying how angry and sad she was to hear the news.

Ellie: Brandon is out of his mind. You could do his job better than he does!

Phoebe hearted the message but didn’t respond. She didn’t have the energy to talk about this right now. So she did what she always did when she felt bad about herself: She started a list.

Marketing consultancy brainstorm

She began the first bullet point, paused, and scratched it out. Her mind was blank. Starting a new project usually filled her with happy energy. So why did she feel like a storm cloud was building inside her head?

Okay, she had to get out of here. Out of this weird, mopey mindset. Out of… Phoebe glanced around her living room. It was a nice apartment, the open living space bordered by a redbrick wall on one side and tall, airy windows on the other, currently providing an excellent view of the pitch-black, rain-drizzled night. But she suddenly felt stifled. Penned in.

She could actually get out of here.

No job. No desire to go to the family holiday party. It was the perfect time.

She opened Google.

Last-minute getaway

Beach destinations far away from Seattle

Cheap flights from Seattle

After a solid half hour of sifting through search results and swiping through pictures of random resorts, Phoebe felt deflated. She didn’t have endless funds. She didn’t know where she wanted to go, or for how long. Just somewhere far away, preferably where she knew no one.

Perhaps somewhere with an abundance of single men.

She laughed at herself. Dating was practically one of her hobbies. She loved meeting new people. Going to a swanky cocktail bar with a handsome man, charming him with her funniest anecdotes? It was a delightful way to spend an evening. But it never exactly panned out. One date rarely turned into two. Her longest relationship had lasted less than four months.

She didn’t know what she was doing wrong in the dating department. She enjoyed the dates, but it was like there was a wall inside her that she didn’t know how to dismantle. Some people weren’t meant to fall in love, were they? Phoebe felt, on some level, that she was destined to be a fun aunt, a single cat lady—minus the cats, because she was allergic. It was okay, though, because she had her work to sustain her. As long as she was accomplishing her professional goals, climbing a ladder of achievement, she didn’t need a relationship. Some people were better off single, and Phoebe figured, at this point, that she was one of them. She could sort of imagine the feeling of being in love, as if she’d known it once, like a song she’d heard but could no longer recall the melody.

But that didn’t make sense, because she had never been in love. As far as she knew.