Page 2 of This Broken Heart

I struggle to keep a neutral face. “How’s your mom?”

Matt smiles. “She’s good. Finally got her roof fixed.”

“Oh, that’s good. I know she was waiting on that.” I take a tiny step backwards. “Well, tell her I say hi.”

And that her son is a shallow, superficial piece of shit.

Matt turns around, scanning the produce area. “I was going to introduce you to Lily.”

“I’m running late. Maybe next time.”

Maybe never, asshole.

I spin on heel and stomp out the entrance, going against traffic, but too pissed to care. Once I’m outside, I feel like I can breathe again.

I climb back into my car and peer up at the grocery store, mentally marking off another place I can never go.

I’d rather drive across town for milk and eggs than run into my ex.

Looking down at my sweats, I realize they had a little stain on the knee. I wish I could say looking haggard like this is an isolated event, but the truth is, I’ve been moping.

My friends, the ones I didn’t lose in the breakup, have noticed. My mom has noticed.

I’m the only one who’s been denying it.

Maybe the writing was on the wall for a long time. Five years together and we never took the step of moving in together.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was comfortable. We went through a lot together.I can’t go five blocks without coming across some corner, some street that dredges up old memories.

It’s hard to get over him when I can’t get away from him.

I glance up at the grocery store and take a deep breath.

What I need is a change of scenery.

A fresh start in a new town.

Excitement, like I haven’t felt in months, kindles in my chest.

It just feels right.

My mom likes to say the universe tries to push us in the right direction. This feels like one of those moments when I’m finally going the right way.

2.

Josh

Trace is making sounds of distress, doing his best to wiggle away.

You’d think I was torturing the poor boy.

I’m just trying to brush his teeth.

But for a four-year-old?

Yeah. Straight torture.

It doesn’t help that I have Maven hanging on my legs, demanding to be picked up.