Chapter Two
Two
IT HAD BEEN THREE WHOLE WEEKS SINCE RYAN WALKED out, and Emma was proud of her ability to not let her heartbreak interfere with her work. Sure, she was a complete shell of herself outside of client sessions and had basically abandoned her apartment because it felt too sad to live there alone—not that she could afford to live there alone anyway. But finding a subletter was rather low down on a to-do list that included things like “shower without crying” and “remember how to smile.”
On top of her struggle to complete basic tasks, Ryan had finally called last night for the first time since they broke up and she kept replaying their interaction in her head. Emma had answered on the first ring, completely confident that he’d changed his mind and wanted her back. Why call and not text if it wasn’t to declare he’d made a huge mistake? She’d even answered the phone like she used to when they were a couple and not mortal enemies.
“Go for Emma,” she’d said hopefully into the phone, expecting him to finish their normal call-and-response with “Go for Ryan.”
Instead, he had replied with a stoic “Hey.”
Emma felt the hope drain out of her but, like an idiot, she forged ahead instead of hanging up. “I’m glad you called. I miss you so much.”
“Yeah, so I’m just calling because I need to get my stuff. And I was wondering when would be a good time to come by. I’m assuming you don’t want to be there.”
“Why would you assume that?”
“I don’t know. It just seems like it would be…unnecessary. It’s better if we both start to move on, right?”
Move on? It had only been three weeks. Images of Ryan on dates with girls who weren’t as picky about food as she was flashed through Emma’s mind, but she squashed those thoughts so she could focus. She had to be strategic if she had any shot at changing his mind.
“Don’t you think we have things to discuss? Like why you suddenly can’t stand to be in the same room with me? This whole decision seems pretty impulsive.”
Ryan sighed like Emma was a coworker who had gotten the wrong message after a particularly friendly happy hour and he now had to bring her back to reality. “I’m trying not to give you any false hope. I know how you operate. I don’t want to show up to get my stuff only for you to launch into a preplanned speech to convince me I’m making a mistake. Because I’m not. This is what’s best—for both of us.”
Emma felt shocked by his coldness and insistence that there was absolutely no wiggle room. Ryan was famously indecisive. He had once returned a pair of Banana Republic pants two different times before deciding to keep them. If only he had given their relationship that amount of consideration, they might still be getting married.
“You clearly have no idea what’s best for me. I think that’s evident by the careless way you have handled this whole thing.”
“Fine. Then I’m doing what’s best for me. I hope you can—”
Emma didn’t hear the rest of his request because she had chucked her phone across the room.
An hour later, once she was done hyperventilating, they emotionlessly agreed over text that he would grab his stuff the following Saturday while Emma stayed at her parents’ house. She didn’t mention she had been with her parents every night since Ryan left—she knew it would make him feel better about the whole thing. He’d assume he didn’t have to care about her well-being because her family was there to pick up the pieces of what he’d left behind, as if heartbreak was something that could be evenly distributed between a group to reduce individual suffering. If that were true, she’d have a lot fewer clients.
Now that she was living with her parents again, she had reverted to angsty teenage behavior outside of the office, which included a lot of rage-singing along to breakup songs and refusing to eat anything other than bagels and pizza. At work though, she’d been able to compartmentalize and keep it professional. Until now, apparently.
“At least he hasn’t left you yet,” Emma blurted out to the couple in front of her without thinking.
“Excuse me?” Leah, the wife, asked with a bit of a bite.
Emma rearranged herself into a more professional stance in her therapist chair and tried to correct her completely inappropriate comment. “I just mean, despite all the arguments and the fighting and the periods of not speaking to each other, you have both stayed. And that is no small feat.”
Emma waited with bated breath to see if her reframe would stick. She figured flattery would work on Patrick, a hotshot tech executive with the emotional intelligence of a seven-year-old, but Leah was smart. Emma might need to repair this thera-peutic rupture by disclosing her broken engagement and she wasn’t sure she was ready to do that yet without sobbing; no one comes to couples therapy to comfort their lovesick therapist.
“I guess that’s a good point,” Leah conceded, reaching over to take Patrick’s hand. He squeezed hers back and cracked a grin.
“Good luck getting rid of me,” Patrick said to his wife before turning back to Emma and adding, “We have an airtight prenup and I don’t want to lose the house.”
Emma smiled in response to the tasteless joke, praying her face didn’t reveal her disdain. As a therapist she cared about all her clients. As a person she hated a good ten percent of them. “Why don’t you tell me more about how your date night went? Were you able to get a babysitter in time?”
As Leah launched into a tirade about the lack of “good help” in the area, Emma let her mind wander. Her eyes drifted to Patrick’s cell phone on the couch, and she felt a now-familiar pang of guilt that she hadn’t posted anything on YouTube since Ryan walked out. Part of the reason her audience had grown so much was because she’d let them see inside her own relationship while also providing mental health advice and debunking myths around psychology. What had started as an educational channel about couples therapy—hence the name Neutral Third Party—had slowly transformed into something far more personal and expansive without Emma even realizing it. Her most popular video wasn’t when she’d spent over an hour breaking down the Gottman’s four horsemen of the apocalypse in relationships (criticism, stonewalling, defensiveness and contempt); it was when she and Ryan played the newlywed game for seventeen minutes because they were bored one night. Over the last year, she’d somehow gone from posting occasionally to getting yelled at in the comments if she went a week without uploading. And now she had almost skipped an entire month.
Emma knew she’d need to make more content soon if she wanted to keep her large fan base, but the idea of publicly announcing her broken engagement made her want to hurl. Why had she made Ryan a part of her channel? At the time it had seemed innovative—including her actual partner to teach people about healthy relationships—but now it seemed more misguided than Patrick signing that airtight prenup. Even if Ryan’s involvement had skyrocketed her subscribers from a few thousand to nearly half a million. Maybe all those colleagues who talked shit behind her back at mental health conferences had been right the whole time: fame does ruin your professional credibility. And maybe your sanity.
“I just don’t get why it’s so hard to find someone comfortable with our indoor security cameras,” Leah lamented. “It’s not like I want to watch you picking your nose. We only have them for emergencies. You understand that, right?”
Emma found herself nodding even though she was barely listening. Her mind had once again returned to her phone call with Ryan as Leah continued to bemoan Gen Z’s obsession with privacy in the background. Emma found herself stuck on whether Ryan had always had this capacity for coldness and she had just missed it somehow. But as her mind flicked backward all she saw was his kindness. Like how he had spent months trying to prepare vegetables in a way that didn’t make her scrunch her nose at the sight of them (Szechuan sauce and a lot of garlic). Or how he bought a Kindle so he wouldn’t keep her up at night with the light on when it became clear her (extremely) early bedtime was not sustainable for him. He was the kind of guy who called his mom on the ride home from work and helped clear the table when everyone else was still chatting. He was a good guy . Even their shared dentist had told her so!
“Can we talk more about Leah’s aversion to blowjobs?” Patrick interjected, breaking Emma out of her spiral. “Because babysitter or no babysitter, I think that is really getting in the way of our connection.”
Clearly now was not the right time for an existential crisis. She’d have to fit one in later.
“Do you think I should just give back the book advance?” Emma asked her older sister, Jackie, as they waited for their parents to serve dinner.
Jackie was only five years Emma’s senior but was already ten years into a fulfilling marriage with her college sweetheart. Jackie had spotted Chris at a bar her senior year, declared to a friend, “I’m going to marry that man,” and had then managed to pull it off. It was classic Jackie; everything she ever wanted for herself came true with minimal to no effort. She genuinely didn’t seem to know what it meant to struggle outside of strenuous exercise. Meanwhile, all Emma had ever wanted—and still failed to procure—was the safety and security of a life partner who was legally bound to her. The ache of her singleness hit harder now that she had come so close to never having to attend a family event alone again. But here she was, back to being a perpetual fifth wheel at the Moskowitz dining room table. Even her two nieces had each other.
“Why would you ever give money back?” Jackie asked, perplexed. She looked at her husband for back-up. Chris was furiously typing something on his phone next to her. When he didn’t immediately agree, she nudged him with her elbow.
“Never give back money,” Chris declared, finally looking up. “Especially if you haven’t been sued yet.” Chris owned his own trading firm after stumbling into commodities by accident. Now he and Jackie had a huge house, multiple babysitters and a large willingness to dispense financial advice whenever appropriate (or inappropriate). Unfortunately, little of it was applicable to someone on a therapist’s income who no longer got to split her bills with a partner. Yet another unfair aspect of singledom.
“I don’t want to give it back. But let’s be real. I’m in no position to write about sustaining healthy relationships. I should just change professions. Do you think I’m too physically weak to work with my hands?”
Jackie and Chris seemed to be seriously debating the question when Debbie appeared out of nowhere with a large salad and a hefty dose of motherly encouragement.
“You are not changing professions. You help your clients every single day.” She put the salad down and joined them at the table. No matter what the family was eating for dinner, it was always preceded by a large salad.
Alan appeared next, holding a water pitcher for the table and one can of Coke for himself. Alan’s dinner Coke was another sacred Moskowitz ritual.
“I feel there’s an opportunity for a joke here,” Emma said with a sigh. “Something like those who can’t do, teach, and those who can’t maintain a relationship, give relationship advice for a living.”
“What about ‘relationship coaches don’t play’?” Chris generously offered.
“Oh my god, I bet I’ll have to become a life coach after this because no one will take me seriously anymore.”
There was nothing worse in the professional mental health community than a nonlicensed life coach who told people what to do without any proper training. Although, at the moment, Emma could see the appeal of not having to make her own decisions. Maybe she should dump her own rational, measured therapist for a twenty-three-year-old wellness influencer who would take complete control of her life. Seemed easier than properly processing her grief.
“Stop it,” Debbie interjected. “You are more than capable of maintaining a healthy relationship.” Debbie was now serving the salad and dropping large pieces of lettuce all over the place despite years of practice.
Emma smiled at her mother’s clumsiness. She knew despite everything that had happened, she was lucky to have such a strong support system. No one important in her life had reacted to the news of Ryan abruptly leaving with anything other than bloodcurdling rage on Emma’s behalf. Even her own normally stoic therapist had broken character to indignantly call him an asshole. Emma kept waiting for someone to suggest that he must have left for a reason , but so far no one had blamed her in the slightest. Now if only she could figure out a way to stop blaming herself. But that kind of unbridled self-compassion was hard to come by, even with the assistance of psychotropic medication.
“I’m confused,” Jackie interjected. “Didn’t you already write this book? Isn’t that why you couldn’t watch Amelia when I had to get my face waxed? You told me you were ‘near the end of the book’ and couldn’t risk ‘losing steam’ months ago.”
“Wow, I didn’t realize you listened closely enough to quote me,” Emma teased.
Jackie ignored the subtle jab. She was the aloof one in the Moskowitz family, but if there was ever a crisis, Jackie was the first to arrive on scene, often with retail therapy shopping bags in hand. She had even threatened to “confront” Ryan on multiple occasions without explaining what that would entail. Luckily for Ryan’s fragile ego, and maybe his windshield, Emma had said it wouldn’t be necessary.
“But you’re right,” Emma said. “I did finish the first draft of the book. The only issue is that half of it is about how wonderful my relationship is with Ryan.”
“Can’t you just cut those parts?” Chris asked.
“And fill it with what exactly? How many hours I’ve spent psychoanalyzing the characters in Friends ?” Emma was only half joking. She had once spent an entire afternoon making a YouTube video that proved Phoebe was actually the most emotionally mature and resilient one in the group. Rachel fans had come for her, but the Joey fans got it.
“I guess when you really break it down—which I have during many early-morning hours when I should be asleep—I no longer feel qualified to write this book. I feel like a fraud who couldn’t even make a relationship last long enough to walk down the aisle.”
“Please!” Jackie responded with the authority of a world leader. “What happened to you wasn’t your fault. Ryan didn’t leave because you were a bad partner—he left because he’s a spineless coward with no concept of what commitment actually looks like. Do you know how many times I’ve fantasized about leaving Chris when he’s snoring so loudly I want to rip my extensions out?”
“Uh…no.” Emma sneaked a look at Chris, who didn’t seem offended in the slightest.
“About a billion times.” She turned to Chris. “And how many times have you wanted to leave me during my ninety-minute skin-care routine that keeps the lights on in the bathroom?”
“Every single night,” he responded. Chris pointed at his head and said, “My mind needs total darkness to shut down or it keeps generating the goods.”
Alan nodded in agreement as though he didn’t often fall asleep under the fluorescent lights of the mall while waiting for Debbie to try on yet another chunky sweater.
“See!” Jackie exclaimed. “Just because you have moments of wanting to flee doesn’t mean you actually do it. You suck it up and wait for the feeling to pass. Because we are adults.”
“And we love each other,” Chris added.
“Right. And that,” Jackie agreed.
“I have never once wanted to leave your mother,” Alan proudly proclaimed, reading the room wrong.
“Well, you’re weird, Dad.” Jackie gestured at her parents. “You two are like obsessed with each other.”
“No, we’re not,” Debbie protested.
“Fine. But Dad is obsessed with you.”
Debbie nodded in agreement, causing Alan to shout, “Hey!”
“We’re just teasing, honey. Of course I’m obsessed with you too.”
“My point is that you don’t need to learn anything because you didn’t do anything wrong, Emma. You just need to date someone else. Someone better.”
Emma couldn’t help but snort at the notion of dating again. She wasn’t exactly feeling desirable. “I seriously doubt I’ll date anyone before my rewrites are due in a few months. Unless you happen to know someone interested in pursuing a hollow shell of a human being?”
“Actually, there is this one guy at my gym—”
“Jackie! It’s way too soon for me to even think about dating someone else. Right?”
Emma looked to her parents for confirmation but failed to find it. This was strange because her parents had spent years of her twenties trying to get Emma to focus on anything other than locking down a husband. This was likely due to her younger self’s tendency to completely fall apart whenever a relationship ended; it was historically safer for everyone when Emma was single. But now that her mental health was in better shape, were they suddenly yearning for more grandkids?
“I don’t know if it would be such a bad idea to venture back out there,” Debbie suggested with the tentativeness of a mother whose head had been bitten off too many times. “You’ve done a lot of work on yourself to get to this point. Who says you suddenly have to put your entire life on hold because your fiancé got cold feet?”
While Debbie had asked the question in a hypothetical way, Emma felt something substantial shift inside of her. She was having what those in the therapy biz called “a moment of clarity.” Up until a minute ago, Emma had had one very clear idea of the world: if your fiancé abruptly leaves you, the appropriate response is to close yourself off and hide for at least eight to twelve months in order to heal properly, and maybe one day move forward. Now, she wasn’t so sure that was her only option. Plus, her mother was right. Emma had spent her entire adult life figuring out how to get her anxiety disorder in check so she could be a good partner and eventual wife. After countless therapy sessions, multiple medications and one very helpful social skills class, she didn’t want to lose steam on all her progress just because Ryan turned out to be a spineless coward.
“You don’t think I need to wait, I don’t know, like six months or something?”
“Six months! I don’t think you have to wait six weeks!” Jackie decried with the conviction of someone who had had only one serious relationship before getting married at twenty-seven. “Everyone knows the best way to get over someone is to get someone else.”
“I think the phrase is, ‘The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.’” Jackie stared at her blankly, so Emma clarified further, “You know, in a sexual way.”
“Ew! We’re with Mom and Dad!”
“ You brought it up!”
“I’m just saying, you go on all the time in your videos about how easy it is to find a ‘good enough’ relationship if you’re willing to put in the work. Maybe it’s time for you to start putting in the work.”
Emma was startled and flattered to realize that her sister seemed to be a real fan of her content. Jackie also had a point. Emma had built her career around the concept that love wasn’t based on a magical connection. It was something two (or even three or four) people worked on together. Romantic love was about compatibility on some level, but it was mostly about dedication and commitment. It was picking someone who treated you well and then treating them well back. You couldn’t have fire and passion all the time. But you could—and should—-always have mutual respect. And looking for someone you respected and enjoyed was far less of a tall order than finding The One.
Not that Emma believed in The One in the first place. Or at least not in the traditional sense with certain connections being preordained from above. Emma thought people became soulmates over time. True, enduring love couldn’t just be found—it had to be built, making it more attainable than people thought.
A wild idea started to percolate in her brain, but she wanted to get a better sense of her audience before sharing it. So, as nonchalantly as possible, Emma asked, “Don’t you think people will be freaked out when they learn I was engaged to someone else a few weeks ago?”
“Eh, shit happens!” Debbie waved her hand in front of her face as though she was casually swatting away a fly instead of a widely held societal expectation. “I’m sure the right person would be understanding. You’re a catch. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”
“Ryan didn’t think so,” Emma replied, unable to resist an opportunity to poke at her wound.
Alan scoffed. “Ryan thought the Padres had a real chance of winning the World Series. He was delusional from the start. You’re too good for him.” He reached across the table and squeezed her hand for emphasis.
Emma knew that her lifelong obsession with marriage had a lot to do with her parents. She equated marriage with family so she was always eager to take the leap from dating to I can trust you with my life . She had seen her parents consistently show up for each other and she craved that for herself. And to be perfectly honest, she wanted to wear the Oscar de la Renta wedding dress she’d already purchased at a huge discount.
“So none of you think it would be too early for me to start dating?” Emma asked.
All four heads swiveled side to side.
“Would it be too early for me to get into a serious relationship?”
Again, four shakes of the head, although Chris’s was less emphatic since he was back to sending emails on his phone.
“What about finding someone who not only wanted to date me but also marry me—” Emma paused for dramatic effect “—on August 29?”
“Of this year?” Debbie exclaimed with enough shock for the entire group.
Emma nodded.
“As in, six months from now?” Alan added as if that couldn’t possibly be right.
Emma felt a smile creep across her face as everyone stared at her in disbelief. She knew she was about to head down a path that would completely blow up everything she’d been taught about love, marriage and party planning. But maybe it was time for her to hit the detonator for once instead of being collateral damage.
“I’m not going to call off the wedding,” Emma declared with more conviction than she had any right to feel. “I’m just going to find a new groom.”