Chapter One

"We're really done this time."

The words spear through my heart with vivid sharpness. Nothing comes out when I try to speak, as though five years of memories are jammed down my throat. Helpless and confused, I watch Edward shove handfuls of his things into a duffel bag. Two large suitcases are already filled with more of his stuff, waiting by the door.

I'm unsure what triggered this, but it's miles from how I expected our Saturday afternoon to unfold. Eddie has been in a frenzy for the past hour, scavenging through the apartment to gather his most prized belongings.

"Eddie, please. Let's talk about this."

"We already talked about it, Gen. A dozen times. I stayed because I hoped things would change, but they never do. Not with you."

"I'm sorry! You know work has been hectic lately, and—"

"It's been hectic since we started dating! You keep making excuses and promising you'll take a step back and have more time for me, but you never do."

"It's not that simple."

"And yet it is. All you need to do is to prioritize me rather than whatever big promotion comes next, for once."

"We made a deal, Edward. You agreed we'd wait until I became head of my department."

"I didn't think it would take that long! Everyone we know is getting married and having children. But for us… It'll be what? Another decade before we get there?"

"We can get married if you want," I offer. "God knows our parents have been pushing us to."

"Will you make time for family life if we do?"

I press my lips together, seeing no point in lying. Marriage wouldn't change anything, at least on my side. I worked too long and too hard to let anything get in the way of my objective.

"See? This is why I can't do it any longer. You refuse to compromise, and that is not how a relationship works, Genevieve."

"And you? Are you compromising? You've been home even less than I have this week."

Before I can gloat over my excellent point, he says, "I've been finding excuses not to be home for months and you didn't even notice. What's the point of being here? We barely speak, ignore one another, don't have sex…"

The last one stings, but I kind of deserve it. It's been a while since I initiated anything intimate between us, and the last few times he did, I rebuked him on account of being too tired or having work to deal with.

"I'm sorry," I say for the umpteenth time. "Maybe we can fix it. I promise I'll do better. We can set a clear schedule where I make time for you. And establish a weekly slot for sex. We can—"

"Do you hear yourself, Gen? A weekly slot? Is it a chore for you? Like some duty you'd go through to keep me happy?"

"No, it's not! I enjoy sex with you."

"Well, I don't," he states, his bitter tone sending icy shivers up my spine.

"What do you mean?"

"Sex with you is boring. You treat it with efficiency like everything else, and it's so dull."

Now, I'm confused. First, I didn't make enough time for him and sex, and now I'm bad at it? Somehow, that hurts me more than everything else he's said so far. Especially since I have to fake my climax most of the time when he always finishes.

I'm still processing his words when he returns to his drawers to pack more things. When he turns around this time, tears are veiling his eyes. That sends a twinge of pain to my heart.

It's really over, isn't it? The man I expected to spend the rest of my life with is leaving, and I can't stop him. Would I want to, anyway? Knowing what I do now, can I still go through with my life plan?

"I wish we could have made it work, Genevieve," he says, pulling on the zipper of his bag to close it. It's too full now, so I mindlessly walk up to him to help.

"Where will you stay?"

"I'll be with Frank until I can find a place."

"What should I do with the rest of your stuff?"

"I'll let you know when I have space to store it. Are you okay if I keep the keys in case I need to pick up some things and you're gone?"

"Yes, sure. It's still your home," I say. I own this place, but he's lived here for four years.

"Do you think you'll cry for me?" he asks, a lone tear rolling down his neatly shaven cheek.

My eyes drop to the first button of his shirt as I consider his question. He knows that I never cry. The last time I did was after losing my twin. Since those days, not a tear was shed for anyone.

When I can't find the answer within me, I truthfully reply, "I don't know."

He looks disappointed as he says, "I see…"

We grew used to one another, complacent in our arrangement, and our relationship hasn't felt like one in ages. It was practical and easy, something to hold on to rather than face the unknown with others. Have I slowly been falling out of love with him? When did this become our routine rather than the loving relationship it used to be?

"When will you tell your parents?" I ask.

"I'm not sure. Mom knows things have been complicated lately, so she won't be surprised."

While I dislike that he's been sharing our issues with his nosy mother, I suppose it's good to have her prepared for the shock. My father won't be an issue since he doesn't care much about my romantic life. But Mother will endlessly nag me about it.

As pathetic as it is, I say, "Let me know if you change your mind."

"I won't."

Standing in the middle of the bedroom, I watch as he hauls his bag over his shoulder. We hesitate on what to do next, and I settle on a brief and tight hug. Despite all that time with him, his body feels alien against mine, reminding me that things fell apart long ago.

"Take care of yourself, Gen," he says with a small, forced smile once we let go.

"See you around, Eddie," I tell him, returning a grin I'm not feeling.

I use his reluctance to leave to take one last look at him. His caramel eyes are weary, and his dirty blond hair is slightly askew, which is unusual. I grew accustomed to his face, so dashing when we first met. Then, I speechlessly stare as he makes his way out of our bedroom—my bedroom. Pain, betrayal, heartache… I wait for all those to wreck me, to crush my heart into a pulp in my chest. But they don't come, and that troubles me. Yes, I feel abandoned and lost, but the agony it should unleash on me is a mere squeeze.

The front door opens and closes, and I stay glued right where I stand. I can't do this whole thing again. I'm almost twenty-seven, which is too old to do it all over with another man.

It takes my phone dinging on the bed to rip me out of my thoughts. It's Hana, replying to a text I sent her earlier—when Eddie was packing his things and I panicked.

Hananana

WTH?? What's happening now? Is he still packing?

With a sigh, I type a reply.

Me

He just left. I think it's really over this time.

Hananana

Holy fuck! What happened?!

Me

I don't even know.

I send that because it's easier than listing everything that's been going on for the past year or so. She's well aware of my sex life anyway, or lack thereof. Because she knows me better than anyone else, she replies with just what I want to hear.

Hananana

Red or white?

Me

Both.

Hananana

I'm coming to you as soon as I'm done pumping. Hang in there.

While I wait for my best friend to arrive, I assess what my life has suddenly become. My social circle got a lot smaller, because our mutual friends will pick a side and stick with it. And if I'm being honest, they were Eddie's friends first—meaning, I already know who'll get to keep them. At least we never got that dog I wanted, so we don't have to fight about who keeps it.

My biggest concern is our colleagues. While Eddie and I don't work in the same department, we work for the same company, and the ten floors that separate us might not be enough to prevent the spread of nasty gossip and rumors.

I still haven't fully come to terms with everything by the time Hana arrives. She enfolds me in her arms as soon as I open the door, and the relief is instantaneous. Maybe it's because she's a mom now, but there's something motherly in the hug she gives me, possibly the comforting plumpness of her figure.

Maternity really suits her, and the ease with which she's going through it almost makes me regret never giving it a try. But between Eddie's schedule and mine, there's no way we could have made it work.

The mere thought of the future that was pulled out from under my feet makes me hold her tighter.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you, honey," she says in my hair.

"You always hated him."

"No, I always thought you deserved better, which isn't the same."

Less than five minutes after we let go, we're sprawled on the couch with some random Girl Power playlist in the background and wine in our crystal glasses. She can sympathize with me because we've gone through the same strict upbringing, with too many expectations for what we're meant to become. Growing up in a Korean household, she was left with very little room for failure—which was how she got a full-ride scholarship to Harvard. Now, however, she managed to fight her way out of her strict parents' grip and lives her life without worrying about meeting their impossible standards.

It takes over an hour to recount everything that happened with Eddie, and we go through both bottles as well as a pizza we had delivered. I don't cry, so I have the answer to his question: no, despite five years together and the life I could see myself spending with him, I won't cry over him.

"You know what annoys me the most?" I ask Hana as I crack open the pricey vodka I found in a cupboard. The words drag on my tongue, which means we probably drank too much already. It doesn't matter though, so I pour some of the vodka into our empty wine glasses.

"That you don't have ginger beer for Moscow Mules?" she replies.

"No. That Eddie told me I was bad in bed. It's been five years! And he waited until he was breaking up with me to let me know? Who does that?!"

"A liar. I'm sure you're great in bed. You do everything with panache."

"Heck yeah, I do. I'm probably amazing. He was just making up excuses."

"Totally." There's a moment where I can see her intently thinking while I ruminate on Eddie's hurtful words. She picks up her phone from the low table before us and types something on it.

"If Tyrone tries to leave me, I might murder his ass."

I chortle at the mere notion. Tyrone, her fiancé, is too enamored to do anything like that. Their relationship is as flawless as it gets, their bond getting stronger with every day that passes. The baby they welcomed into their lives seven months ago, Lucas, brought them even closer.

And here I am, barely affected by my boyfriend of five years dumping me.

"Maybe I'm broken," I mumble.

"Nah, fuck that. You just slowly fell out of love with him."

"I walled up again, you know?"

She looks away from her phone to offer me a small, understanding smile, knowing all too well about my dissociative response to trauma. It's a fun, self-preserving method my brain developed over time—the unavoidable outcome of my parents' strict education.

"It's okay, honey. You and Edward were at the end of it, and you knew it in your heart."

"I still feel like I should have had a stronger reaction."

"It's like grief, Gen. There isn't one singular way to do it."

"Maybe it's because I knew it was my fault."

"Oh, hell no."

"I could have been a better girlfriend."

"And he could have been a better boyfriend. He always complained about your work hours, but his are just as bad. That man wanted you to step down and put your career aside for his own comfort. Why didn't he quit his job if he wanted kids so much? You're making more than he does—more than enough to maintain your lifestyle."

"He has his goals, and I have mine," I justify.

"Exactly." Her tone turns excited when she says, "Okay, I found a test!"

"For what?"

"To know if you're bad at sex or not. It's designed for heterosexual women and all."

I freeze, many questions running through my mind at once. What if I am bad at sex? What if Edward wasn't lying, and I'm boring in bed?

"First question," Hana says without waiting for my approval. "Have you ever had the nastiest, naughtiest sex in your childhood bed as an adult?"

I shake my head, horrified at the thought. Sex in my parents' house is something I would never do, for fear of whatever repercussions it might bring.

"Alright, so no on this one. Have you ever gone down on someone while pleasuring yourself?"

I shake my head again. Crap, it isn't starting well.

"Have you ever had sex in a public place?"

"Does being at home with an open window count?" I try.

She shakes her head disapprovingly. "Not when you live on the 28th floor, Gen."

The more questions she asks, the lower I sink on the couch. With every "no" I utter, I relive Edward saying that sex with me is boring. Hana doesn't give up though, convinced the test will come through and I'll get better questions later.

The good thing is that she fills our shot glasses every time I get sad, and we down more vodka. The bad thing is that I get sad a lot.

"What the hell is a Jacob's ladder?" she asks at some point. Intrigued, I stare at her screen while she googles it. "Holy shit," she breathes out, scrolling through the images.

I say nothing, too stunned to even speak. Penises. Heavily pierced penises. After a few pictures have passed, I realize that the "ladder" is a series of piercings arranged underneath the shaft. My knees come together on instinct, shuddering at the idea of that entering me. Why on earth would someone do this to themselves? It looks terribly painful—especially in such a sensitive body part.

"That must feel amazing," my friend murmurs with fascination.

As I watch the pictures of dicks parading under her ever-scrolling thumb, I find myself wondering if it would. It has to be an interesting sensation, for sure.

"So, have you ever had sex with that?" she asks.

"Absolutely not. I prefer my vagina not in shreds."

She mumbles something that sounds like "you wuss," and returns to the test to select yet another "no".

"How many questions are there?"

"Fifty. We have fourteen left."

"Maybe we should stop now so I can tell myself I might have answered yes to at least one."

"Come on, I'm sure you will. And who knows, maybe some of those questions were trick questions where you have to answer no to get it right."

I give her a doubtful pout, folding my arms across my chest. This is turning out to be humiliating, even more than Edward's words. Now, a curated test will confirm his claims.

When we complete the last question, she angles her phone away so I won't see the answer. "So?" I worriedly ask.

She remains silent, her eyes going left and right as she reads. "Never mind. This test is stupid," she concludes.

"Show me."

"No, it's dumb. They don't know what they're talking about."

Before she can react, especially given how much we drank, I snatch the phone away to see my pathetic results. "Please tell us you're joking," I read out loud. "There's no way you answered ‘no' on every single question here unless you lied. If you didn't, you are the most excruciatingly bad-at-sex person anyone could ever come across. You lack imagination, boldness, and probably the will to live. Sex with you is, without a doubt, the greatest chore one might ever encounter. We hope for everyone's sake that they never enter your bed. Please, for the love of God, stop having sex."

For the first time in ten years, I feel like I might cry. Hana takes the phone away from me, her apologetic eyes not enough to shake me out of my thoughts.

I'm terrible at sex.

I'm beyond boring, and I now realize that Eddie was gentle with his choice of words.

"Oh God," I whimper with shame.

"It's just a stupid test, Gen. It's not true. Come on."

"It is. It's so true. I'm the most boring person in the world. No wonder Edward left."

"No, stop that right now! It's not true, and we can do another test to prove it."

"It will only confirm what this one said. Shit, Hana… I'm awful at sex."

I fall back onto the couch, processing the terrible information. It's not like I ever believed that I was a sex goddess, but I didn't think it was that bad.

"Come on, you're young! You can improve!"

"No, the test said to stop having sex altogether. I think I'll do that."

"Fuck that test. It's just a stupid bucket list that one person decided on. It's their subjective opinion of what makes someone good in bed, not some globally agreed upon truth."

I lie there, staring at the high ceiling above us. Maybe it's the wine and the vodka—or perhaps desperation—but a ludicrous idea sprouts in my head. "It's a bucket list," I repeat.

"Yeah."

"Which anyone could go through."

"I guess."

"Even me."

Now she's catching my drift, and a glimmer of interest shines in her brown eyes when I look up at her. "Even you, yes," she confirms.

"Then I'll do every item on it and show that stupid test who's boss."

"Yes, you will!" She's beyond hyped up now, sitting straight up on the couch.

I push myself to the same position, slightly worried by how the earth spins too hard and too fast.

"There's one problem though," I say with a frown.

"What?"

"How am I going to find some guy with a Jared's ladder?"

"Jacob's. And I know exactly how."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Do you trust me?"

"With my life," I gravely reply.

"Good. First, we have to make you look hot. Then, we have to take a few pictures. Come on, get up."

Springing off the couch with an uncertain balance, she pulls on my arm to force me up. I let her, not because she's stronger than me, but because whatever she has in mind sounds like a great way to take my mind off Eddie. She drags me all the way to my bedroom and then into the walk-in closet. My chest tightens at the sight of the empty shelves and racks, and the few things that he left behind.

"He doesn't deserve you," Hana mutters, sensing my distress. "Come, honey, let's get you looking all sexy."

She pushes me to the back of the closet, where I keep the few party dresses I own. "The green one," Hana commands. "With the spaghetti straps. You look so hot in it."

Since she sounds so confident, I take out the Dior dress and examine it from top to bottom. It is a lovely garment, and the deep green satin molds my shape to perfection, leaving very little to the imagination. It reaches below my knees, but there's a slit that runs high on my thigh and makes it a little more daring than what I'm used to. The cleavage is also a little much, but I'm allowed to flaunt my breasts now and then. The color is ideal for my complexion, and it's a nice contrast with the auburn hues in my hair, which cascades in waves down my shoulders to the middle of my back.

"Go on," Hana bosses me. I comply, too tipsy to question anything that's happening. "Not gonna lie," she starts as I remove my clothes, "this comes at a perfect time. I've been wanting to go out clubbing, so I'll get to accompany you."

"How's clubbing related to any of this?"

"Well, you'll have to find Eddie's replacement."

I scoff, shaking my head disapprovingly. "I don't have time for that. My vibrator will have to do. At least it never misses, and orgasming in two minutes is so much better than wasting time with a man who can't figure out where my clitoris is."

"Only you could be so pragmatic," she laughs.

"I'm a busy woman."

"I'm well aware. This is nice, by the way. Shame you had to get dumped for us to have some quality time again."

An incredulous laugh bubbles in my chest. "I missed you too, Hana."

"Of course you did. I'm amazing."

She really is. My social life might be in shambles, but as long as I have this woman by my side, everything isn't entirely lost.