I still remember the drama of our final confrontation—he came in person to tell me it was over. To this day, I can still feel the horror of facing a future without him. I raged, I wept until I was weak and drained, I swore I could not go on. It caused a pain I couldn’t share with anyone. My mother brought me a pint of Cherry Garcia, but I promised her I’d never eat again. She said with utter confidence that I’d get over him. Then she went downstairs and ironed clothes, filling the house with the scent of lavender water. I ate the Cherry Garcia. Watched Seinfeld reruns and learned to laugh again. Somehow, one day dragged into the next…and eventually I realized that I didn’t miss him.

Hearing a heartbroken sniffle and the murmur of Molly’s voice drifting through the window screen of the motel, I decide not to tell her any of that. She and Travis will grow apart because that’s the way it works. She will have to find this out for herself. The end of love has to be experienced firsthand, not explained by your mother.

I turn on the radio to give her more privacy. Even so, I can guess what they’re saying. There are whispered promises of love-you-forever and we’ll-stay-together, and no one knows as well as I do that they mean it—every word. Preston and I certainly meant it, all those years ago. We were going to travel the world and live a charmed life together.

These days, Preston owns the hardware store in town and has a cushy paunch around his middle, a receding hairline and four kids. When I drop in to buy upholstery tacks or a can of paint, I always think about that last summer after high school, the passionate hours in the back seat of his car, the vows we made to each other. I can look past his bifocals and graying temples, and still see a boy who was as handsome and romantic as a fairy-tale prince. As Preston rings up my purchases and we make small talk, I wonder if he thinks about the way we were, too, if he remembers. Does he look at me in my pull-on slacks and gardening clogs and recall the girl I used to be?

Running into him is, weirdly enough, not awkward in the least. He’s someone who came into my life for a brief time, and then stayed in the past. I feel no wistfulness for him, no regrets. I do envy him those four kids, though. When one goes away, he still has the others to keep him company.

Or maybe saying goodbye four times is harder than saying it once.

When Molly comes back into the room, her eyes red and her chin trembling, I offer a smile, but I don’t say anything. This is a volatile issue, and I don’t want to push it. Travis is a boy of good looks and small ambition, one who regards his union job at the plant as a ticket to independence as well as an opportunity to work on his Camaro at his uncle’s garage on the weekends.