With and Without You - Hardcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Emily Wibberley and Austin Siegemund-Broka are the authors of Always Never Yours, If I'm Being Honest, Time of Our Lives, and What's Not to Love, as well as the upcoming adult romance The Roughest Draft (Berkeley, 2021). Raised by a school librarian, Austin's always had a passion for books. He met and fell in love with Emily in high school, went to Harvard, where he studied English (focusing on Shakespeare) and graduated magna cum laude in 2014, and is now a practicing attorney. Emily, whose parents are screenwriters, has loved writing and storytelling since an early age. Emily attended Princeton University and graduated magna cum laude in 2014. While at Princeton, she wrote the first novel in her self-published YA fantasy trilogy, the Last Oracle, which was featured in USA Today and was a finalist for the Next Generation Indie Book Awards. Now married, Emily and Austin live in Los Angeles.

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One

“I want to break up.”

The words feel weird passing my lips. I can’t quite believe them even though I’m the one saying them. Maybe there’s just no way to prepare for the end of stories like ours.

The whole thing is made weirder by the fact I’m f  loating in a swimming pool, sheltering from the hundred--degree Phoenix sun. On days like this, I never know where the droplets of chlorinated water on my shoulders end and where my sweat starts. Right now, though, I’m pretty sure I’m mostly sweat. Not just from the heat, either.

“Patrick,” I continue before I lose my courage. I have a whole speech planned out, and I’m determined to give it. “You know how much you mean to me,” I go on, working hard to keep my expression contrite yet respectful. “You’ve honestly been the best boyfriend—-”

From across the pool, he interrupts me. “And you’ve been the best girlfriend.” He’s treading water in the deep end, sweat beading on the brown skin of his brow.

I grimace. “Thanks,” I say through my teeth. It’s the worst kind of thank you. Not grateful, just necessary. “But what I’m trying to say is that we’ve been together for nearly three years. I’m just wondering if . . . maybe we’re too young for this kind of commitment.” I hear my voice grow stronger by the end of the sentence, which is good. It’s the only thing making this bearable, really. I believe what I’m saying.

“Siena, you’re my world,” he protests. “You’re my everything. You have been since we were fifteen.”

My mouth f  lattens. Some stinging combination of sunscreen and water has slipped into my eye, and I rub it, grateful for the moment to regroup. “That’s my point, though. It’s been almost three years.” There’s more I don’t say. We haven’t even saidI love you. We haven’t had sex. We discussed early in our relationship wanting to wait for the “right time.” Which . . . somewhere in these three years, shouldn’t I have felt like it was the right time? “Do you want to graduate high school having only dated me?” I ask.

His reply is immediate. “Yes! I literally only want to date you!” He looks genuinely confused by my question. Then his expression clouds over. “Wait, who else do you want to date?”

I’ve been bobbing lightly on my toes in the pool, but when I sink down, I realize I’ve drifted into the five--foot section. I’m only five foot six, and I find the water rising past my mouth. I’ve lost my footing, conversationally and literally.

Paddling into shallower water, I force myself to remain clear and calm. “Nobody in particular,” I say. “I just feel like I need freedom. Not to date exactly, but to explore who I am.”

I breathe out. That’s it. That’s what I’ve been feeling this summer, in the months leading up to Patrick’s and my senior year. The truth is, if I examine who I am right now, I’m not very interested in what I find. I’m incredibly, painfullynormal. I just exist, filling days with the routines of life. I go to school. I do Model UN. I’m not very good—-I never gavel. Besides, I joined the extracurricular for Patrick. On Saturday nights, I go to the movies or McDonald’s with the same group of friends I’ve had since elementary school.

Honestly, my most defining feature is my boyfriend. Patrick and I are The Couple. The couple our circle of classmates can only imagine as a unit. No one even says our names separately. It’s onlySienaandPatrick. PatrickandSiena. SienaandPatrick are in our prom limo.PatrickandSiena were the only people not drinking. Which isn’t Patrick’s fault, not in the least. But itis our relationship’s fault. When everything I do involves or centers on him, it’s hard to figure out how to be my own person. I just know I can’t stand it much longer—-I’m desperate for something to change.

His voice cuts harshly into my thoughts, louder now. “So, what? We’re over? Three years, and you’re throwing me away?”

I’m caught off guard. I f  latten my feet on the rough concrete of the pool for some sense of stability. “It’s really more like two and a half years,” I point out, then wince.

“Like I’m garbage?” he goes on emphatically.

“Patrick, you’re—-you’re not garbage.” I kick under the water to move closer, reaching out for him.

He pushes away from me, splashing dramatically. “You were everything to me,” he says. “I guess I was nothing to you. I don’t even know who you are anymore. The Siena I knew would never do this to me,” he wails.

I open my mouth to reply, then—-

Instead, I sigh. Dropping the contrition from my expression, I frown. “Okay, this isn’t helpful,” I inform him.

He stops f  lailing immediately, mirroring the change in me. “Too much?” he asks apologetically, his expression completely changed.

“Way too much,” I confirm. “You have to be realistic, Joe. Patrick won’t make a scene.”

My best friend nods, considering my feedback like an actor hoping this performance wins him his Emmy. “He will be heartbroken, though,” Joe says matter--of--factly.

Ruefully, I realize he’s not wrong. While Joe obviously doesn’t know Patrick quite as well as I do, he’s received more secondhand knowledge of Patrick Reynolds than anyone on the planet. I made a point of having the three of us hang out often so that Patrick never got jealous of Joe and Joe didn’t feel like I ditched him when I got a boyfriend.

Joe’s my closest friend and has been since we were five years old. We met in kindergarten, our friendship founded on having the same Wonder Woman lunch box. These days, Joe is much cooler than me. I can’t explain why we’re friends except to say we just get along. On paper, we don’t have much in common—-Joe is Black and wealthy, plays drums in the jazz band, and hangs out with athletes and drama kids instead of my friends in Model UN—or MUN for short, as in, rhymes with fun. But it doesn’t matter.

It’s why I’m here. When I decided today was finally the day I would break up with Patrick, I texted Joe, who promptly invited me over.

I didn’t hesitate. First, Joe’s house has a sweet pool, and it’s ridiculously hot out. Second, I needed to get out of my apartment before my brother, Robbie, started making out with his new girlfriend on the couch. Most importantly, however, I wanted to rehearse my speech.

Joe agreed, probably out of boredom, when I explained I needed him to play the role of Patrick. We’ve spent the past final weeks of summer supposedly enjoying the homework--less emptiness of each day, but really doing nothing. I know Joe has more parties, more obligations, more unread group chats on his phone than Patrick and I do. Even for him, though, I think summer has started to feel a little listless.

Hence him getting carried away with the role of Patrick, my soon--to--be ex--boyfriend.

“Patrick’s too nice to get argumentative,” I point out. “Honestly, he’ll probably end up consolingme after I dump him.” The thought douses me in guilt. Despite the heat, the water feels...