Aunt Sarah turns on me next. “And you? How is your summer going? I haven’t heard much from you.” She sounds disappointed and I make a mental note to text her more often with updates. I’ve just been so swept up this summer.

“It’s been good.”

“Your job is still going okay?”

I nod. “Yeah, I like it.”

Mom takes a sip of her tea and grunts.

“What?” Aunt Sarah says. “Did something happen at work?”

“No,” I say, at the same time that my mother mutters, “Ask her about her boyfriend.”

“Something happened with Zander?”

My stomach sinks. Oh my god, I completely forgot to tell her about Zander. This is awkward.

“Well…” I’m having a hard time figuring out if I start with the new boy or the old boy. The good news, or the bad news. Is it even bad news, anymore, what happened with me and Zander? Are Aiden and I even worth mentioning, now that we broke up our non-relationship? Is there anything in my life that isn’t a question anymore? It doesn’t seem like it.

I set the cup of coffee down in front of Aunt Sarah, and lean against the butcher-block island. “Zander and I broke up.”

Aunt Sarah lets out a little gasp. “Oh, Liv, I’m sorry.” She sounds like she means it.

“It’s okay. Honestly, I’m over it. It was … months ago.”

Her face twists in confusion. “Months?”

I nod. “First day of summer, when I suggested I could stay at his house senior year.”

Her face is soft and sympathetic. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”

“It’s fine.” And I really mean it when I say it. Zander and I weren’t right. We weren’t wrong, but there was something missing there, something I didn’t even realize until it was over. Until I could see it from the outside; all of the holes and gaps where we didn’t quite fit together. “Honestly.” I take a sip of my tea. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t think it was going to stick at first. You know, it seemed like a fight. Then I got … distracted.”

Aunt Sarah nods.

I focus on my socks—white with little purple unicorns on them—while I figure out how to share the rest. “Then I met someone at River Depot,” I continue. “Aiden Emerson,” I say, my eyes never raising to see her expression. But I can hear it in her voice.

“Aiden Emerson … that’s … different.” I can’t tell what she means. There’s a weird edge to her voice, like she wants to say something but doesn’t.

My mom stands up from the table and walks to the sink, setting her cup inside. “Sar, he’s adorable. He’s John and Melinda’s kid. You remember them?”

Aunt Sarah nods. “I know who he is, of course.”

Of course.