Chapter 3
SATURDAY MORNINGS AT THE Myers house are home to my most chaotic memories.
Growing up with two older twin sisters who suffered from severe commitment issues was eventful, to put it lightly. They are experts in heartbreak—both having a clean breakup record; they’ve always been the dumper, never the dumpee. And an extraordinary amount of dumping has gone on in this house. For some reason, it always happened on a Saturday, when a new character would join the Myers family—only to never be seen again.
Saturday meant hobbling downstairs to the most awkward family breakfast imaginable. There was always a new addition to our dining room table: a guy named Matt eating a breakfast burrito and not leaving any eggs for the rest of us; a girl named Nadia who, after my mom brought out honey for her tea, would not stop talking about how we need to save the bees; or even poor Peter, who was so scared he went straight out the door after witnessing my dad’s prebreakfast stretching routine right in the middle of the living room carpet.
Then there are my parents, two easygoing, life-loving hippies. They spent their twenties traveling through Asia in a van. My dad was briefly in a band during the eighties, and they had a huge radio hit in the summer of ’85. My parents retired early with the money they still rake in through royalties. Once they had children, they enforced absolutely no rules in this household—hence Julie’s annoying tendency to take on the mother role.
I’m fairly certain the reason I’ve steered clear of relationships for eighteen years is because of the chaos I witnessed as a kid. I mean, you can witness your sisters breaking only so many hearts before you start to realize that love is crazy, messy, and maybe safer to stay away from entirely. There’s also the fact that there is truly no guy even slightly desirable in all of Ridgewood. You’re choosing between Billy, who you watched pee his pants in third grade, or Steve, who drove his daddy’s truck into a pole one summer ’cause he was tipsy from too many keg stands.
Still, what this town lacks in excitement is made up for in our singular household. This Saturday, like all others, starts off with a healthy dose of mayhem.
My eyes open, and I wait. I wiggle my feet, admire the sun cutting in through the slit in my curtains. I listen to the faint sound of pots clanging from downstairs in the kitchen. I try and I try and I try to resist, but Suzy was right: I’m obsessed with my phone. Declaring defeat, I grab it from my nightstand, open iDiary , and disappear into this little online space that is solely mine.
In a house with no boundaries and a town where everyone knows everyone, having something that belongs to me and no one else feels precious.
I’m scrolling through the app’s home page when my bedroom door bursts open. In walk Julie and Jillian, polar opposites in every way. Julie is in a light pink, button-up pajama set that has tiny embroidered strawberries. Jillian wears an oversize Fall Out Boy concert tee and crew socks.
Jillian tosses my laptop on my bed. “Took it again by accident,” she says. We have the exact same laptop, same color, same case—everything. The two of us are always accidentally grabbing the wrong one.
“We made you breakfast!” Julie declares. She carries a large wooden tray that holds a tall glass of orange juice and a plate of pancakes smothered in whipped cream.
“ Mom made you breakfast,” Jillian clarifies, making herself comfortable on the edge of my bed. Julie places the tray on my lap while I quickly close iDiary and hide my phone under the covers.
“Great,” Jillian says. “Jackie’s watching porn again.”
My cheeks flare. “Am not .”
Julie’s hand grasps my shoulder. “It’s nothing to be ashamed—”
“ I wasn’t . Shut up. Both of you.”
Jillian is cackling like an evil witch. Julie’s face is so concerned she looks like she may burst into tears. Desperate to change the subject, I grab the fork and dig in. “What’s the occasion?” I ask. The pancakes are as fluffy as ever, with just the perfect dash of vanilla—Mom’s signature touch.
Jillian shrugs, already distracted by her phone. Julie is walking over to the large floor-to-ceiling windows that take up an entire wall of my bedroom. She pulls back the blackout curtains, allowing the morning sun to find its way into our Saturday. Her gigantic engagement ring catches the sunlight, casting rainbow fragments over the white walls.
“Much better,” she says. Then she is shoving me over in my own bed, cozying up under my blanket before her head rests on my shoulder.
“We know today is going to be rough for you,” Julie says. Her voice is feather soft, like I’m a piece of glass that will shatter beneath the slightest pressure. “Mom remembered too. We thought maybe this could cheer you up a bit.”
“Is it working?” Jillian asks, typing furiously on her phone. “Do you feel the cheer , Jackie? Are you now cheerful ?”
“I don’t understand,” I say over a mouthful of pancakes. “What exactly do I need cheering up from?”
“It’s your boss’s last day,” Julie shares.
“ That’s what you’re worried about?” I ask in disbelief.
Jillian snorts. Her hair this morning is definitely a sight. It’s in the process of growing back from when she shaved her head last summer. Now, short curls stick up in all directions like she’s been electrocuted. “I told you she’d be fine,” she says. “Jackie isn’t a sentimental crybaby, like some people in this house.”
I stuff more pancakes into my mouth to hide my giggle. Jill and I definitely inherited more of our personalities from Dad, while Julie is a carbon copy of Mom. They excel in baking, wearing the color pink, and diving so deeply into their feelings they may as well be ocean explorers.
Julie silences her twin with a glare. “Jackie,” she says, talking to me like I’m one of her students, “when the principal at Ridgewood Elementary quit last year, you saw how devastated I was. It was so much more than losing a boss. It was like losing a friend.”
“Guys, I’m completely fine.” Over a mouthful of food, the words come out barely audible. Truthfully, these pancakes are doing more for me than they are.
Julie squeezes me into her side. “You’re so strong,” she says. “Honestly, you’re handling this so much better than I did.” Probably because her boss was a fifty-five-year-old woman who baked her pies. My boss is a balding man in his thirties who makes me clean vomit three times a day.
“I’m fine,” I say again. “Seriously, your concern is not needed.”
While my sisters argue, I eat a spoonful of whipped cream. The years they spent off at university turned the house a dull, sad gray. It wasn’t until they were gone that I realized how much I needed them around. Dinners weren’t the same without the three of us roasting my mom; weekend breakfast sucked without Jillian there to list all the reasons why my dad should stop eating meat. Their bickering was my favorite background noise.
My dad appears in the doorway. His white T-shirt is covered with flecks of paint, and he is wearing the ultimate dad jeans, with little holes in the knee from decades of wear. The length of his goatee has doubled, and there is pink polish covering his fingernails—undoubtedly Julie’s doing.
“What are you three scheming about?” he asks.
“Your daughter is mothering me,” I say.
“Jules, let’s leave the mothering to your mother,” Dad says. He heads downstairs, leaving us to our usual mess.
Beneath the covers, my phone begins to ring. Julie lunges for it. “ Ohmygoshcanyoustop, ” I say, tearing the phone from her fingers and accepting Suzy’s call. I put it on speaker, since she’s basically the fourth Myers child. “Good morning,” I say.
We all jump when Suzy’s voice booms from the phone. “CAN WE KEEP THE FAMILY BONDING TO A MINIMUM WHEN THE CAMERA IS NOT AROUND.”
“What are you—” I hop out of bed and run over to the window. Next door, Suzy stands in her bedroom, glaring right into my bedroom. Jill joins me at the window and bursts out laughing.
“That’s hilarious,” Jill says.
“Cut it out!” Suzy says. She is all kinds of serious, standing there looking comically grumpy in her button-up pajamas. Still, her threats are way less scary when she’s fifteen feet away and we’re separated by two brick walls.
Jillian takes the phone from me. “Oh, we are going to bond so hard .”
Suzy gasps.
“Harder than ever before,” I add.
“I’m coming over right now—”
“Mom, lock the doors!” Jill yells downstairs.
“Bye, Suz!” I singsong, hanging up the phone just as she begins to threaten me.
Jillian shuts the curtains. Behind us, Julie is very confused. “What was that all about? What camera?” she asks.
“You don’t want to know,” I warn.
When Jill begins walking out of my room, Julie says, “Where are you off to?”
“Work,” Jill answers.
Julie doesn’t buy it. “It’s Saturday.”
“And? Just because you have the weekend off doesn’t mean everyone else does, Julie.” She leaves, taking her attitude with her.
Still tucked into my bed, Julie releases a loud sigh. “I don’t like her working with Camilla,” she says. The mention of Jillian’s ex-girlfriend quickly changes the mood in the room. “I’m worried about her. We both know how that ended last time.”
Camilla is Jillian’s boss at The Rundown , who also happens to be her ex-girlfriend. Not just any ex either— the ex. Camilla and Jill dated for two years when they were eighteen. When Camilla cheated on her, there was a solid month where my entire family didn’t see Jillian. The door to her bedroom was permanently locked. I’d hear her window opening at night and spot her climbing down the trellis, hopping into some sketchy car that waited at the end of our driveway. That heartbreak kicked Jill’s ass right into a No Commitment Zone. She hasn’t been the same since.
“She seems okay to me,” I add. By which I mean she’s been her usual sarcastic, irritable self. “She said they were on good terms when she took that job.”
Julie shakes her head. I notice that one of the buttons on her pajama shirt has fallen off. “I don’t want her getting mixed up with Camilla again, Jackie. And she seems more like, moody lately.”
“She lives in a constant state of annoyance, Julie. Irritable is her only mood.” If you even look her way before ten a.m., she will tear you in two.
Julie collapses on the pillow.
“What are you up to today?” I ask to change the subject.
“Massimo is coming by,” she says, her face taking on that dreamy, faraway look that only happens when she’s thinking of her fiancé. Julie’s heartbreak era ended two years ago, when she met Massimo while grocery shopping. The handsome—and insanely rich—Italian chef quickly swept her off her feet and managed to lock down her untamable heart.
“We’re looking at another wedding venue,” she continues. “The last few didn’t live up to that fairy-tale idea I have in mind, you know?”
No, I don’t know. But when your wedding doesn’t have a budget, I’m sure achieving fairy-tale status is possible.
Finally, Julie vacates my bed. “Well, I should get ready. Oh! If you want to skip the bus today, you can take my car to work.” Seeing the look in my eyes, Julie says, “Only for today, since I don’t need it. This is a onetime thing. Got it?” I nod. “And for the love of Taylor Swift, check the freaking camera when you reverse out of the driveway. I won’t have you nearly running anyone over in my car.”
“It was one time — ”
“Too many,” Julie finishes. “You know where the keys are.” After blowing me a kiss, she leaves, closing my bedroom door behind her.
I call Suzy, who picks up on the first ring. “Wanna go for a drive?”
“Why can’t we just take this car on our road trip?” Suz asks as we get into Julie’s Volkswagen Tiguan, my bare legs sticking to the hot leather seat. “It would make things a lot easier.”
I turn the engine on and immediately blast the AC.
“Because I’ve been indefinitely banned from driving my family’s cars,” I say. After I very carefully reverse down the driveway, we are cruising down the road. Suzy reaches for the aux, playing the La La Land soundtrack as per usual.
“Because of what you did to Mrs. Clemens?”
“I didn’t do anything to her—”
“You reversed your car into her,” she says like a lying liar.
“I gently nudged her—”
“Hit her,” Suzy says while clearing her throat.
You have one incident when you’re sixteen, and suddenly you aren’t trusted to operate a motorized vehicle. Wow. “She shouldn’t have been standing behind my car,” I say.
“She was on the sidewalk. You know, that area meant for walking .”
“That’s not what happened.” It is in fact exactly what happened. “She shouldn’t have been behind my car.”
In the passenger seat, Suzy snorts. “Don’t victim blame.”
“It’s not victim blaming if the victim was actually at fault!” I pull out of the neighborhood extra carefully. “Can we change the subject, please,” I beg. “Why exactly am I dropping you off at Bee’s?” Bee’s is our favorite café in town that’s conveniently in the same plaza as Monte’s.
“Course selection opened today,” she says. “I have to finalize my schedule before all the good classes are full.”
The mere mention of college makes me clam up. Partly because thinking about Suzy leaving places a giant question mark on my life. The other reason is, simply, that I didn’t apply to any. Through four years of high school, nothing clicked. No subject stood out, no career path felt possible or even somewhat exciting. When I start to think about my future, all I can see is working at Monte’s and Suzy being on the other side of the country. Which is very, very bleak.
Suzy swats my arm, which is very unsafe since I’m driving. “Stop spiraling,” she commands.
“Am not.”
“Are too. I can see it on your face.”
Chewing on my bottom lip, I brake as we approach a red light. This isn’t a full-blown spiral like normal. This is, like, a semi-spiral. Much less dangerous and easier to snap out of.
“ Stop ,” she says again, reaching over and pinching my leg.
“What if I’m just stuck at Monte’s,” I say. “What if that’s all I’m destined for?”
“I won’t let that happen,” Suzy says.
But you won’t be here.
It feels like I’m walking a tightrope, constantly torn between being a supportive friend and wanting to be a selfish monster who asks Suzy to go to school in state so our futures can stay intertwined.
Thankfully, we arrive at Monte’s and I can stop worrying about my what-if future and start focusing on the present—which, to be honest, isn’t much better. Suzy runs over to Bee’s, and I take out my phone and open iDiary . do you ever wish you could hit pause on the future? I write. just prolong it for a little while longer? not to be too emo on a saturday morning, but I’ve been feeling like that a lot lately. When it’s posted, I start walking.
Standing below the gigantic MONTE’S MAGIC CASTLE sign, with a generic fairy-tale castle and a princess in front, waving a magic wand, is Anita, smoking a cigarette. She is the complete opposite of this fairy-tale image, with her Dr. Martens (mind you: in the middle of summer) and her short hair tied up in two little space buns. She flicks her cigarette ash onto the grass and nods as I approach.
“Steal someone’s car?” she asks.
“I’m not that cool,” I say. “What’s going on in there?”
“No idea. I think Monte Jr. was intentionally vague about today’s private event so he wouldn’t scare us away.”
She’s not wrong. The text he sent out in the work group chat gave no details whatsoever. Just that we would be closed today for a private party, but we needed to come in anyway.
Anita’s phone chimes. She glances at the screen and groans.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“It’s this girl I went on a date with last night,” she says, tucking her cigarette between her teeth before furiously texting. “We’re going on a second tonight, but I’m not feeling it. Like, at all.”
“What happened?”
“The chemistry was kind of off,” she says, the cigarette muffling her words. “And she went into a kiss with full-on tongue. What kind of sicko does that?”
“Gross.”
“I’ll give it one more shot I guess,” she continues, her fingers flying across the phone screen. “I just don’t want to get stuck on a date with no escape. I have to be able to flee at a moment’s notice.”
A bead of sweat drips down my neck, the summer sun melting me like a Popsicle. “Take separate cars,” I suggest, remembering a time when Jillian ran into this exact dilemma. “So you’re not stuck driving home together if it ends badly.”
Anita stops texting. “That’s... actually very helpful,” she says, her eyes on mine. “What other advice you got?”
“Uhm...” I scramble. “Obviously go somewhere public. You know, like a coffee shop or something. That way you can get up and leave whenever you want. If you hang out at your house, she’s there for as long as she wants.”
Anita stares at me like I just offered her the solution to world peace. “Jackie, you’re a genius.”
“No,” I stress. “I just have two older sisters.”
Back to furiously typing on her phone, Anita says, “Whatever the reason, that’s great advice. Like, you should sell it or something. You probably have way more where that came from, right?”
I nod. I could fill a textbook with it.
“Geez, you’re some sort of heartbreak expert. I wish I’d known that sooner,” Anita says, tucking her phone into her pocket. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about Jillian. I’m still working on a way to get her number that doesn’t involve breaking into your phone. All right—ready to get in there?”
I ignore the first half of that sentence. “You head in. I need a second.”
Anita stubs out her cigarette and flicks it to the ground before heading inside. I pull out my phone and open iDiary , creating a new text post. was just called a “heartbreak expert,” I write. have I finally found my life’s calling...?
Unprepared for the day, I head inside Monte’s and get blasted by the familiar gust of air-conditioning, but that’s the only familiarity—because Monte’s Magic Castle has been given a much-needed facelift.
The fifty-something arcade games are literally sparkling in the light, as if they’ve been scrubbed, waxed, and polished. We wander over to the pinball machine. Anita runs her finger along the glass cover. “This was covered in dust yesterday,” she says.
I point at the floor. “I watched two kids throw up on this exact spot just yesterday.” Now the red carpet looks clean enough to sleep on.
Anita whistles. “Geez. Who the hell is this party for? The president?”
I follow Anita to the right side of the building, where a dozen self-serve ticket kiosks line the walls beside the Prize Hut—where you can trade your tickets in for stuffed animals, candy, bouncy balls, or the higher-ticketed items: headphones, a Nintendo Switch, and a pack of signed baseball cards. The rows of prizes lining the walls and stuffed into display cases have been completely reorganized, now arranged from smallest to largest, color coordinated.
Justin and Margaret, Monte’s prince and princess, are standing inside, reorganizing the shelf that’s filled with different candies and chocolates, all worth the low price of one hundred tickets.
Anita grabs a pack of Starbursts and rips it open. “All right, you two. What’s going on here?”
I follow her lead and grab a Twix bar, stashing it in my pocket for later.
Margaret, focused on bags of Sour Patch Kids, looks up at us with her big blue eyes. Her skin is milky white and covered in soft matte makeup that makes her look like a doll. “What do you mean?” she says.
I stare at her pretty pink princess dress with envy.
“I haven’t seen Monte’s this clean since there was that lice outbreak three years ago,” Anita says.
“Has Monte Jr. said anything about who’s coming?” I ask.
Justin and Margaret shake their heads perfectly in sync. “No,” Justin says. “He’s been running around all morning. He hasn’t gotten off the phone.”
“Whoever our new boss is, they’re coming in hot,” I say.
Anita offers me the roll of Starbursts. I grab the orange one. All orange-flavored candy is the safest bet. It always tastes good, never too artificial, like strawberry or lemon.
“I still can’t believe he’s actually leaving,” Margaret says.
“Same,” Justin says. “Dude’s got a permanent hard-on for this place.”
“I thought he’d die in that ball pit,” Anita adds.
That makes me laugh. “As if it could smell any worse.”
A voice comes booming from behind us. “ATTENTION!”
Monte Jr. is standing on a chair. He speaks into a megaphone, which is somehow the strangest and most on-brand thing I’ve ever witnessed.
“It’s finally happened,” Anita says. “He lost his mind.”
“CAN EVERYONE PLEASE FORM A CIRCLE AROUND ME! EVERYONE PLEASE GATHER AROUND.”
Monte Jr. steps off the chair and lowers the megaphone. Beads of sweat drip down his forehead, and half-moon circles dampen the fabric beneath his underarms. He lets out a long, long breath. “Thanks to everyone for being here today,” he begins. “I know you all have questions as to who this event is for—”
“Who’s our new boss?” someone yells.
Monte Jr. scratches his head. “A lot of work has gone into prepping for this party today,” he continues, entirely avoiding the question. “The guests we are hosting will be the Monroes—my entire family. And they will be arriving within the next half hour.”
At that, I groan. If we’re hosting the Monroes, that means we’re hosting Wilson. I think the only thing worse than working with him would be working for him. Dammit, I need to find a way out of this.
“To thank you all for being here, you will be paid time and a half today.” At that, everyone cheers. “And,” Monte Jr. continues, now smiling, “a one-hundred-dollar bonus for all your hard work.”
And just like that, I know I’m not going anywhere.