Standing amidst the wreckage of a fifteen-year relationship, Anna finds herself single, unmarried, childless and, at the rickety age of thirty-five, trying desperately to pick up the pieces.
There’s a lot of crying and punching, a trip or two, and a list of things to do and be to get her self back. There’s the heady scent of a (possible) spankin’ new man sparring with the memory of the boy who first captured her heart—and may have stomped all over it.
But what would she know? After all, here she is—loveless, childless, and totally, utterly clueless.
You can take the girl out of teenage hell, but can you take teenage hell out of the girl?
At fourteen, Andrea was a geeky, gangly teenager who spent one magical summer with the rich and famous—surrounded by art, polo ponies, and children who bear the names of corporations and main avenues. She had a mad crush on handsome trust fund baby Manolo, but her silly romantic notions were painfully crushed one night by spoiled, arrogant Jaime—the one boy she loved to hate, and who hated her right back.
More than a decade later, Andrea is overworked and under-loved, with no man in sight and no intention of getting back to the delusional business of hoping and throwing caution to the wind. Ordered by her doctor to hightail it out of the city and into a true-blue vacation, she and her best friend, hippie-heiress Pilar, head off to a small, soon-to-open resort on a southern island. But Andrea’s plans of a tranquil summer holiday are ruined by cruel reminders of the past—taking her back to her humiliations and her thwarted desires.
(Enzo to Anna)
Postcard Sent to Nowhere
This city has never felt so big and too small all at once. Big, because I cannot find you. Small, because every corner reminds me of you. I stare at a painting and there’s a shade of blue I know you would adore, that you would wear against your skin, rub onto white paper. I smell the cold and coffee in the morning air and reach for you. The light hits a woman’s hair a certain way and I believe, for one heartbreaking second, that it’s you.
I’m a masochist going to all your favorite haunts, over and over, round and round. I’m a ghost on a carousel. Where are you? I seesaw between longing to see you and dreading running into you. But there is a bigger question that gnaws at me, chips away at my insides as I walk these streets.
Are you happy? Deep down, I think that’s all I really want to know. Because if you are, then I think I could bear all this.
(Jaime to Andrea)
Note Found Next to a Jar of Peanut Butter
Why I love you
- You sing in the shower. You kind of suck, but it’s cute.
- You put your hand on my nape when I’m driving. (You put your hand in other places, too. Be like Columbus, kid. Keep exploring.)
- You tuck your feet between mine when you’re about to fall asleep, like I’m your happy place. I hope to God I am. You sure as hell are mine.