Prologue

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At 27 years old, moving back into my childhood bedroom was definitely not at the top of the list of my proudest moments. But here we were. I lugged in the last banged up box, dropped it carelessly on the worn pink carpet, and threw myself on my old, creaky canopy bed. Yes, it was a tad overly dramatic, but I was moving back to my teenage bedroom as a fully grown adult. Theatrics were most definitely appropriate in this specific situation, thank you very much. 

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I surveyed the boy band-laden shrine to my younger self and sighed. The walls were still painted the same French Rose pink and were covered with torn out posters from early aughts teen magazines of my favorite stars and singers that topped the charts at the time. Their shiny faces mocked me; their eyes too squinty – smiling a little too wide, like they were laughing at the failure I had become. Adding to the ridicule, my high school track medals hung pristinely as if they had just been polished to remind me what it felt like to not be winning in life. How far I’d fallen from that five-star high school athlete turned college scholarship runner. How did I get here?

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Don't answer that. 

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A soft knock at my door snapped me out of my pity party for one as Mom let herself in. "All settled, honey?" Her expression was sweet and sympathetic, if not just the teensiest bit smug. She always hated Mike. But mom looked as good as ever. Her raven black hair cascaded in long luxurious curls down her back, framing her seemingly ageless fifty-five-year-old Cardamom brown skin. I always wished I looked more like my mom. But, alas, her beautiful Indian features didn’t leave as much of an imprint on my face as my dad’s very strong German DNA.

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Before I could answer, my stepdad popped up behind her. "Yeah, kiddo. We're so excited to have you back home! I've been needing an extra set of hands with installing the new screen door. Maybe we can do that this afternoon."

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I smiled. Bob was in his late-fifties and looked like the quintessential dad – complete with khaki shorts, loose-fitting flannel and pristinely white New Balances. His smile reached all the way to his kind eyes and his grey mustache tickled his upper lip. Well, if I absolutely had to start over as a loser, I at least had my parents to make me feel less loserish. "Maybe later. I'm exhausted." 

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My mom shooed my stepdad out of the room and came to sit beside me on my comically small bed. It squeaked defiantly under the weight of both of us. "It's been a rough day. How you holding up?"

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When I shrugged, she continued. "You know, it's a brave thing you did, honey. It's not easy to break up with someone after ten years.” Then, with just the smallest tinge of judgement, “Especially when you lived together." Not that she would know. My mom had the blissful ignorance of never being rejected. She did understand loss, though. My dad passed away 11 years ago, but she'd gotten married to my stepdad within that next year. So, she'd never really been alone for long. 

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I hugged her and inhaled her woodsy floral scent that always smelled like home. "I'm just glad I have you. Thanks for letting me crash here while I figure things out." 

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Mom kissed my head. "This is your home, Hazel. You're always welcome here."

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I smiled. And then yawned. Today really had taken everything out of me. "I think I'm gonna take a nap. Mind telling Bob that I'll help him with that screen door tomorrow?" 

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"Of course, honey." Mom turned off the light as she let herself out. 

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I pulled back the floral comforter and crammed myself into my tiny bed. It wasn't made for two people, let alone one fully-grown one. I couldn't care less that I was still wearing my dirty moving clothes. Who was I becoming? Normally I would never dare get into bed unless I was freshly showered. I guess heartbreak changed priorities. Would I ever care about anything ever again? I mean, even after everything, I did still care about Mike. Speaking of, I wondered what he was doing right at that moment. As if he heard me, my phone pinged.

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MIKE: I miss you. Can we talk?

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Talk? What more was there to say? When the love of your life decides that you're not the love of his, how do you come back from that? I groaned and pulled my covers over my head burrowing as far as I could into my grief hole. My throat ached as tears welled up and began to stream down my cheeks. I hadn't had a moment to cry yet, but now, as I lay here frozen in my teenaged-self's time, I realized that the moment had come. 

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The place where my heart should be hurt. I felt like I was going out of my mind. I suddenly felt as though I was crawling out of my skin. I couldn't stand it. I needed to get out of here. The room was too small. Too pink. There were too many memories of my life before Mike – the life that I might have had if I’d never met him. It was getting too hot and yet I was breaking out into a cold sweat. I had the urge to go screaming down the block like a crazy person. How was I supposed to function when I felt like this? I couldn’t do this. How could I? I didn’t know how to be me without Mike. I hadn’t slept alone in years. I’d never be able to sleep tonight. What if I had to sleep alone for the rest of my life? Did that mean I’d just be awake for the rest of time? What if Mike was right and he was the best I was ever going to get? How long was I going to feel like my heart was imploding? I didn’t think I could last another second, let alone forever.

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I shot out of bed. I had to move my body, or I really would go insane. What could I do to get rid of all this energy? I could go for a run. No. Not that. Frantically, I looked around my room and saw the box closest to me. That’s it! I’d unpack. Maybe this would feel more normal if I put away the past and surrounded myself with my present. I rushed over to the box and ripped it open.

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Life's a real bitch sometimes because I came face to face with our faces – mine and Mike’s – the picture from our last anniversary together. We were looking lovingly into each other’s eyes, my tanned complexion juxtaposing his sunburnt blonde so nicely, as it always had. Happy and in love in Hawaii. What. A. Lie. 

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This. This is what broke me. All the years of knowing that something wasn’t quite right; feeling that there was something wrong bubbling under the surface came flooding over me;  drowning me like a tsunami that had every intention of taking everything out in its path. I felt my empty heart crack into a million shards of glass, and I lost it. 

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I sobbed. And sobbed. Until I couldn't shed another tear.