This review is less about the book’s plot and more about the art of storytelling itself. I often wonder how much an author puts parts of themselves into a book. “Write what you know,” that common phrase, the age-old advice. And as I read this story, I couldn’t help but wonder how much came from the author’s own experiences with love, grief, anger, and forgiveness.

There’s a moment when the protagonist gets advice from her writing professor that I had to highlight: “…[she] encourages me to write from my own emotions. I start to understand the power of fiction, the reason we make up things. My best story is about my father. It’s not biographical. It’s about the manager of a shoe store and the high school boy who gets a job there—but it is about my father, about my rage and shame and love for him. These scenes that didn’t happen concentrate and distill the emotion of what did.” This is exactly what the author is doing. Taking real emotion and turning it into fiction.

And then there’s the first line of the book: “You knew I’d write a book about you one day.” It’s simple, direct, almost a confession. But once you finish the story, it lands with so much more weight. Like the author is speaking not just through the character, but from their own life.

SPOILER (ALERT!!)

Can we all agree though that 21-23 year old men are just absolute dipshits? My god. I felt like I was getting PTSD from the college era in this book. And honestly, I personally had a hard time forgiving Yash, even though Jordan did. Not showing up when she moved to NYC? C’mon. Right there, that told me enough. I know he didn’t know, but that really didn’t sit right with me.

I was told I was going to cry while reading this book, and that NYC moment was the only time I did. When her best friend helped bring her luggage up, the description of Jordan’s jacket, knowing Yash never showed up. I felt immense sadness for her, and then anger. I’m glad she had a friend there to support her.