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We had a long, awkward moment, as the song that had been playing the night we met—the night Juliet’s boyfriend cheated on her—played on. Finally, she picked up her phone and jabbed at it, skipping to the next song and turning Radiohead off. She couldn’t bear to hear “Creep,” apparently, even all this time later.
I thought of the girl with red hair, bending over and telling me to kick her out the door into the rain. I had been a boy then, carrying too much on my shoulders, pulled along by forces I couldn’t control. Dad had still been alive.
I missed Dad so much it felt like a knife had carved a slice of my flesh out of my side.
“So,” I said as the next song played. “What happened after I went upstairs that night?”
She leaned back in her seat, her expression thoughtful. “You really want to know?”
“I really want to know.” Unless you slept with him. Please don’t tell me you slept with him.
“I dumped him,” she said.
I kept still, trying not to react. We had left Portland behind, and a sign flew by for an upcoming exit. I signaled to change lanes.
“And then, a week later, I took him back,” Juliet said.
I groaned in pain. Just a little. I couldn’t help it.
“And then I dumped him again,” she finished. Her tone was flat.
“Was it bad?” I asked.
Juliet pushed her sunglasses up on top of her head and frowned. “Was I in love with him? I don’t think so. I thought it was serious, but back then, I always thought it was serious. It’s a failing of mine. Let’s just say I’ve dated a lot of men who know how to be convincing when they want to be.”
“So you don’t do serious anymore.”
She snorted. “God, no.” She seemed to have moved on from the topic, but her reaction to “Creep” haunted me. The song had bad memories for her. I squeezed the wheel. Fuck that guy, whatever his name was. He cheated on her, and she took him back?
I needed to stop thinking about this. It was a long time ago.
“A woman broke up with me to Tom Petty’s ‘Free Fallin’’ once,” I said.
Juliet sat up straighter, perking up in curiosity. “I’m sorry, what?”
“We’d been dating for a month.” I rubbed the scruff on my jaw. “It wasn’t working out. I was distracted—I had a lot going on, none of it good. I shouldn’t have been dating, really.” I paused, remembering how bad that time was. “Anyway, I knew it wasn’t working, and she asked to meet me in a coffee shop, which was weird. She was picking a public place in daytime, so I knew she was going to break up with me. I met her and she started talking, doing her speech. And ‘Free Fallin’’ came on the sound system in the background.”
Juliet had turned to watch me as she listened. Without the sunglasses, her eyes were dark-lashed and beautiful. I concentrated on the road.
“So she was talking,” I continued, “telling me how she was feeling, what she wanted out of life, which wasn’t what I wanted. This awful speech. And all I could think was, ‘Is this breakup going to ruin this song for me? I’d be so bummed out if it did. I really love this song.’ It was the first reaction that bubbled up. That’s how I knew she was right to end it.” I sighed. “I think she left thinking that I took it well. I was just relieved. I had to act sad.”
“So did it?” Juliet asked.
“Did what?”
“Did the experience ruin ‘Free Fallin’’ for you? I want to know.”
“Oh.” I shook my head. “No, it didn’t. I still love that song. I deleted her number, and I haven’t thought about her since.”
“Ouch,” she said. “Harsh, Finn.”
I raised my eyebrows at her. “Yeah? You keep in touch with all of your ex-boyfriends?”
“No, because I don’t want to catch a disease through my phone. But I stalk a few of them on social media from time to time. Don’t you?”
“Never.”
“Of course not.” She rolled her eyes. “You have another one lined up, so you can forget about the last one.”
