Chapter 2: The Truth About Us

I thought Ethan and I were in a relationship.

After all, we did everything couples do.

The memories flickered in my mind like an old home movie: shared milkshakes at the Silver Diner, Netflix marathons in my tiny apartment, late-night drives with the windows down and the radio blasting country songs.

We ate together, went out, hung out with friends, and during truth-or-dare, we’d kiss on the lips and say “I love you.”

Sometimes I’d forget where the pretending ended and the real feelings began. His friends joked we were attached at the hip—sometimes I believed it too.

On rainy days, Ethan would personally pick me up and drop me off at work.

He’d show up with coffee in a to-go cup, windshield wipers thudding, acting like it was no big deal. I remember thinking: this is what being loved looks like.

He’d secretly hold my hand under the table at family dinners.

His thumb would trace circles against my palm, hidden from our parents’ eyes. My heart always did somersaults, but I never let on.

I never realized that what I thought was half a year of dating was just a game of playing house to him.

“Natalie.” Mom knocked on the car window, peering in with concern.

I startled, wiping away tears so fast I nearly poked myself in the eye. She tapped again, worry written all over her face.

I snapped back to reality.

I forced myself to take a deep breath, willing my face into something close to normal. The familiar smell of her vanilla hand lotion drifted through the cracked window.

Seeing my tear-streaked face in the rearview mirror, I quickly wiped my face and got out of the car.

I slapped on the same fake smile I’d worn after bombing my SATs or when my high school boyfriend dumped me before prom.

“Mom.” Afraid she’d see how upset I was, I threw myself into her arms, smiling. “I missed you.”

She squeezed me tight, groceries rustling in the crook of her elbow. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe in the comfort of home.

Mom held groceries in one hand and my arm in the other, looking relieved:

She gave me that once-over moms have, like she could see right through the bravado. We walked past the neighbor’s yard, where Mr. Johnson was mowing his lawn in plaid shorts, a faded American flag drooping from his mailbox. For a second, everything felt almost normal.

“Why were you sitting in the car instead of coming inside? You scared me. Didn’t you see the news about people passing out in cars…”

She shook her head, half-joking, half-serious. Typical Midwest mom—worried about everything from carbon monoxide to strangers in the Walmart parking lot.

I nodded.

Suddenly Mom changed the subject: “By the way, Natalie, um… Ethan’s blind date is coming soon. Mr. and Mrs. Harris are really invested this time. I heard Ethan has been planning and arranging everything for a while. He said he was worried the girl would feel awkward, but with you there, she’d feel more at ease.”

Her voice softened at the end, like she was walking on eggshells. I knew she was watching my face for any hint of a breakdown.

“I’ve been friends with Mrs. Harris for so many years, and today…”

Mom looked at me, hesitant to finish her sentence.

She didn’t have to. I could read her worry, the concern etched in the little lines around her eyes.

I forced a smile. “Don’t worry, Mom. I know how to keep things lively and say the right things.”

My voice wobbled, but I pressed on. I was always the good sport, the people-pleaser. If I let her see how broken I was, she’d never let it go.

Mom looked at me with pity.

I saw it plain as day, her sympathy like a spotlight I wanted to run from. She brushed a stray hair from my cheek, her eyes shining.

Yes, the photo of Ethan and me sat by my bed.

Every gift he gave me, I treasured like a precious relic, not to mention the notebook filled with my densely written, undisguised feelings.

I kept all those little things: concert ticket stubs, the keychain he won for me at the county fair, every note he’d ever scribbled. My room was a museum of memories I was too scared to pack away.

How could Mom not know?

Of course she knew. Moms always do.

We walked home in silence. As I opened the door, I suddenly suggested:

“Dad’s retiring next month. Let’s move to Florida.”

The words spilled out before I could stop them. I pictured palm trees, beaches, a place where nothing reminded me of Ethan.

Seeing Mom’s startled face, I smiled and clung to her arm, acting spoiled:

“Didn’t you always want to retire there? I don’t have any big dreams anyway. If I can teach dance and stay with you, that’s enough for me.”

She stared at me, silent for a second, eyebrows raised. Then she gave a warm, slightly teasing grin. “You? Trading snow for palm trees? I’ll believe it when I see it, kiddo.”

I tried to make it sound lighthearted, but a lump stuck in my throat. I squeezed her arm, hoping she’d believe I was okay with leaving it all behind.