so cliché that it borders on meaningless, but pieces of me went missing when my parents died. Those pieces will never be replaced, but what I want is someone who can help me patch up the broken places. Maybe my person and I won’t fit together like two halves of the same whole, but neither did Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan in You’ve Got Mail or Sleepless in Seattle. They didn’t erase each other’s pain; they just made it bearable.
As I sit on the couch, Uncle Don walks past me, his Chewbacca costume in his hands. “I’m gonna go shake this thing out on the porch,” he says, holding it like it’s a rug.
I know Chloe’s studying, but I need to tell someone about what just happened, so I pull out my phone and text her. One of the perks of living on the same property as your best friend is that she can get to your couch in about 2.5 seconds.
After I explain everything that happened with Drew tonight, Chloe says, “I will never, as long as I live, understand anything you do.”
“He isn’t my Tom Hanks, Chloe.”
She throws her hands in the air in frustration. “Who cares about Tom Hanks right now? If I had the chance to bang a movie star who has a body like that . . . I mean, Annie, for God’s sake, this is like you have a chance to eat at Chez Panisse and you’re like, ‘Nah, I’ll wait’ or you have a chance to see a once-in-a-lifetime meteor shower and you’re all, ‘Eh, I’ll catch it next time.’ Can’t you take this chance for me?”
I bite my lip to stop myself from smiling. “Sure, Chloe, I’ll hook up with someone so I can tell you all about it later. That sounds like a great reason to form an emotional attachment to a man who’s leaving town in a matter of days.”
Chloe sighs and looks at the ceiling. “Okay, can I present a theory?”
I narrow my eyes. “What sort of theory is this?”
“What, do you think it’s about the origin of the universe? It’s about you. Duh.” She shifts her position so that she’s sitting on her feet. “Why do you like rom-coms so much?”
I tilt my head. “You know why, Chlo. Because they’re funny and there’s kissing and they’re full of hope.”
“Right.” She nods. “And you watch all these movies, and you say you want that Tom Hanks kind of love, but do you really?”
My eyes widen. “I mean . . . yes. Of course. If I didn’t care about finding true love, like my parents, like a movie, then I would be making out with a hot movie star right now.”
Chloe points at me. “Exactly.”
I blink a few times. “What point are you trying to make?”
“You have a reason to reject every guy you’ve ever met. Every date you go on, there’s some nitpicky reason why he’s not perfect.”
“Barry didn’t drink hot liquids, Chloe.”
“Not just Barry! Everyone. They don’t have the perfect quirky job, or they don’t have the perfect quirky hobbies, or they don’t have the perfect quirky living situation. For whatever reason, you didn’t even fall for Carter, and that man was basically a cardboard cutout of a rom-com hero. You find something wrong with every guy, and I wonder—”
She stops, sighs, and crosses her arms.
“What?” I ask.
“I just wonder . . . you watch all these movies and you say you want love, but do you, really? Or are you hiding behind rom-coms because you don’t want anything to change?”
I sit back and try to take a breath. “What do you mean?”
“Love is a risk, right?” Chloe widens her eyes and nods, like she’s explaining simple arithmetic to a small child. “Loving someone means you might lose them. And God knows you’ve already lost a hell of a lot, Annie. But I don’t want you to be so afraid of anything changing that you don’t take a good opportunity when it’s right in front of you.”
I bite my lip. “If I didn’t know you, I might take you for a hopeless romantic instead of a total cynic.”
“Hey,” Chloe holds a hand over her heart, mock-offended. “The opportunity I’m referring to is the one to jump Drew Danforth’s bones, okay? My status as your friendly neighborhood relationship cynic remains intact.”
I laugh.
“Seriously, though.” Chloe reaches out and squeezes my knee. “Romantic comedies are great, okay? And I know you’re writing a perfect one. But sometimes real life is a