Sunk in Love

Chapter 1

Now

I push soggy layers of pasta and dry beef back and forth on my plate, trying to guess whether the dish in front of me is actually lasagna, or if the cook realized too late that all they had was ketchup and mozzarella and decided to just go with it.

I pick up a forkful, examine it, then set it back down again.

Just because something is called lasagna on a menu doesn’t make it lasagna. But then again, it’s hard to enjoy…whatever this is, when my husband—soon-to-be-ex-husband—made what I enthusiastically dubbed The World’s Best Lasagna.

I used to beg him for the recipe, but he’d just smile—the one with the dimples that made my knees go weak—and tell me that if he shared it, then I wouldn’t ask him to make it for me anymore. Which seemed romantic at the time. A tacit declaration that he’d always be there.

But I guess that was just another lie. One of many.

“Roslyn? You’ve hardly touched your food,” comes Grammy’s voice, drawing me out of my thoughts and back into the restaurant where I’m seated under the glare of fluorescent lighting and my grandmother’s gaze.

I’ve been dodging family dinner for months, cycling through numerous excuses.

Not feeling well. Doing taxes. Writing deadline.

But after the fourth last-minute cancellation, I figured I couldn’t stave it off much longer.

Which is how I ended up at a strip mall Italian eatery sitting across from my grandparents and siblings while they pepper me with questions I don’t know how to answer.

“Just not hungry,” I tell her, forcing a tight smile. Which I seem to be doing a lot of this evening. I wouldn’t be surprised if my jaw hurts in the morning.

“Are you sick?” my little sister, Bella, asks from across the table. “You look like one of the cadavers from the lab we did last week.”

“The flu has been especially bad this year,” Jonah agrees, using his most distinguished I’m-your-older-brother-I-know-best voice. “My ER has seen a big uptick in high-risk cases.”

“I was reading that as well,” Gramps agrees before launching into a discussion of hospital politics and this year’s flu variant while Bella, Jonah, and his husband all nod along, adding in thoughtful hmmmms and good points and how interestings, rendering me invisible as usual.

I used to resent conversations like this. Ones that widened the already existing gap between me and my family of doctors. But tonight, I’m thankful for the excuse to fade into the background of clattering plates and Frank Sinatra warbling over the speaker.

I return to picking at my food until the conversation wraps back around to me.

“If you’re showing symptoms, you need to stay home, Roslyn,” Gramps says, giving me a heavy look.

“I don’t have the flu,” I tell him.

I’m just getting divorced.

“And thanks for telling me I look like a dead body,” I tell Bella. “You sure know how to flatter.”

“What?” She raises both hands above the table in a sign of surrender. “I’m just saying as a doctor, you look unwell.”

“Almost-doctor,” I correct. “You’re still in school.”

“I only have one more year left,” she says, giving me a pointed look as she sweeps a curtain of long blond hair from her eyes.

Between my siblings, Bella reminds me the most of our mother—tall, waifish, and elegant, like a ballerina, with glassy skin and straight, blond hair, while I look more like my dad.

We might not have gotten a single child support payment from him, but I did get his short stature and dark, unruly curls that turn into a frizzy lion’s mane anytime humidity exceeds 50 percent.

“If you’re not hungry, why don’t you ask for a box so you can bring the rest back to Liam,” Grammy suggests, nodding toward my plate of picked-over food. “I’m sure he’ll be hungry when he gets home from the hospital.”

My stomach does a little flop at the sound of Liam’s name.

Though it’s anyone’s guess whether that’s because Liam’s name still inspires a cocktail of potent emotions ranging from anger to crippling sadness, or because my family still doesn’t know that I asked Liam for a divorce and I’ve been lying about his whereabouts for the last three months.

“Right. Good idea,” I tell Grammy, forcing yet another tight smile. “He’ll probably be hungry after his shift.” Lie. I don’t even know if Liam’s working tonight. Though long hospital shifts are an excuse my family of doctors is used to.

“It’s too bad he couldn’t join us for dinner,” Grammy says, casting the vacant seat beside me a lingering look. “It’s been ages since we’ve seen him. Poor thing had that stomach bug last month.”

“I thought it was a sinus infection?” Jonah asks.

“Um, yeah, he had that too,” I say, playing with my napkin.

“Liam sure has been sick a lot,” Bella says, pinning me with a hard look, and I mentally berate myself for not diversifying my excuses a little more. I could have said he was out of town. Or hell, faked his death. Or better yet, faked my own death so I don’t have to be here right now.

“Is he feeling any better?” Grammy asks.

I corral my mouth into another strained smile. “Much better.”

Grammy nods, pleased. “Good. We need him in tip-top health for the family vacation coming up. After all, we’ve got a full itinerary planned. Hiking in Maui. Zip-lining on Oahu. Snorkeling on the Big Island.”

“Right,” I say. “He’s really excited for the trip.” Another lie.

Usually, the annual family vacation is one of the highlights of the year.

A time to relax and unwind, all expenses generously paid for by my wealthy grandparents.

But I’ve been dreading this year’s ten-day cruise around the Hawaiian Islands.

Not just because I’ll be lying through my teeth about how poor Liam came down with insert another illness here and couldn’t make the trip.

But because it’ll be the first family vacation since my mother passed just over a year ago.

I glance at the restaurant door, halfway expecting her to blow through, her usual twenty to forty minutes late, the familiar jangle of jewelry announcing her presence from across the room. But she won’t. Not tonight. Not ever again.

My hand absentmindedly goes to my left wrist, where her favorite silver bracelet now sits.

“Speaking of Liam,” Gramps says, turning toward me. “Roslyn, you must be thrilled about Liam’s research getting selected.”

I frown, sitting up straighter. Selected? Selected for what?

Liam and I have hardly spoken about anything more substantial than who is paying the Netflix bill in months, so I’m totally out of the loop on his life.

But based on the way everyone is looking at me, this is clearly something I’m supposed to be ecstatic about.

Something I would know if Liam and I were still together.

I decide to play along. “Right. Yes. I’m just…thrilled.”

This seems to be the correct response because everyone beams.

“I’d say I’m surprised, but I’m not,” Bella says. “Liam’s a total badass.”

“When I read his research methods, it was like watching Michelangelo and a block of marble,” Jonah chimes in.

“We couldn’t be happier for him,” Grammy says, her eyes crinkling as she smiles.

“Same,” I say, my head bobbing up and down with as much forced enthusiasm as I can muster. “So exciting!”

While I don’t know what they’re talking about, it’s not hard to guess.

Liam’s a brilliant oncologist whose star has been on the rise for years.

He’s probably gotten another publishing credit or research grant.

Or maybe even a giant, flashing neon sign declaring I’m the Best, hand-delivered by the ghost of Johns Hopkins, which at this point isn’t entirely unrealistic.

Though I’m less annoyed by Liam’s never-ending supply of accomplishments—or the fact that my family all probably have sex dreams about his research papers but won’t touch any of my published novels with a ten-foot pole—and more irritated by the fact that apparently Liam is still in contact with them.

I endure a brief stab of anxiety that Liam might have told them the truth, before realizing that if he had, we wouldn’t be talking about Liam’s news; we’d probably be talking about how I’m just like my mother, and Liam was always too good for me anyway.

“I knew as soon as you brought that boy home for Christmas nine years ago that he would go far,” Gramps says, pointing his fork at me.

I school my mouth to smile. “Yeah, he’s…” My brain supplies a million adjectives, none of which are appropriate. “Brilliant,” I say instead.

My grandparents grin. “We’re just so proud,” Gramps says, giving Grammy’s hand a quick squeeze as though Liam’s accomplishments were as much theirs as his. Though I suppose in a way they are.

My grandfather, Dr. Harrold Larsen, is a renowned surgeon best known for something to do with revolutionizing heart surgery that I’ve never fully understood but am now too afraid to ask about.

He’s also been Liam’s biggest advocate, doing everything from writing him letters of recommendation to helping him secure a fellowship after residency.

It used to be validating, knowing how much my family loved and admired Liam.

Their support felt like a stamp of approval, declaring that I’d done a good job picking a husband.

Or perhaps that I was somehow worthy because he, the handsome, successful doctor, had picked me.

But now it feels like a wedge between us, a reminder that, without Liam, I’m nothing more than the family disappointment.

Which is exactly why I haven’t told them about the divorce yet.

It’s not just that it will be painful to admit my marriage failed, that whatever Liam and I once had wasn’t enough.

It’s the blowback that will come with it.

The crushing disappointment. The accusations.

The blame. Mostly I’m afraid this will be the final confirmation that I’m just as much of a fuckup as my grandfather already thinks I am.