How to End a Love Story

“Helen has never been cool enough to be ‘a music person.’ She prefers leaving that up to strangers on the internet who’ve experienced the same specific soundtrack-worthy moments in life—‘cozy October morning in the kitchen’ or ‘driving toward my uncertain future’—and hoping they’ll tell her exactly what songs would bring those feelings out best, like a purple scarf for green eyes.”

This inner monologue stresses Helen’s insecurities and doubts about herself. She feels distant from her own emotions, trusting strangers more than her own affective responses. She is looking for precision—she wants “exactly” the right mood, as if emotions are an accessory. This emphasizes the way her grief and loss have isolated her from her inner self, highlighting the theme of Overcoming Grief and Trauma.

“‘We’ve met’ she says neatly. There’s a sharpness to her voice that suddenly calls to mind an image of dispassionate scissors, cleanly snipping away any thread of destiny that has the gall to show up right now. ‘Grant and I went to high school together.’”

Grant likens Helen’s words to a weapon for maintaining distance, sensing immediately that she will be adversarial. The reference to a “thread of destiny” evokes the threads of fate from Greek myth, picking up the metaphor of their life resembling a Greek tragedy from the first chapter of the novel. However, Helen insists on control of the narrative, and by imagining her holding a pair of “dispassionate scissors,” Grant casts her as Atropos, the oldest of the Fates who is known as “the Inflexible One” and holds the power of cutting lives short and ending them. Grant, as a writer, senses that their reunion might have resonance and lead to closure from their pain, but Helen tries to deny it, reducing their connection as much as possible.

“This calms him enough to fall asleep, his last thought a hazy memory of Helen Zhang staring at him with coolly demanding eyes, first as a teenager, then as an adult, telling him firmly each time what he’s always secretly known—that his presence isn’t wanted, that he should leave before he offends everyone even more. I know, he tells Helen in his dream-memory. When will you stop reminding me?”

Grant’s half-vision of Helen here is a kind of haunting, where she is his guilty conscience and self-loathing come to life. This highlights that Grant does in fact feel guilt and regret, contrary to Helen’s choice to assume the worst of him. He asks Helen for mercy, assuring her he is not at peace; this shows that Grant and Helen have more in common than either suspect.

“You’re too good-looking to be a writer, Helen immediately wants to say out loud. You didn’t have an awkward teen phase that forced you to develop a rich interior life to compensate.”

Helen’s sharply judges Grant by his appearance. She continues to refuse to see him as an adult, assuming that he is as invulnerable as he appeared in high school. At the same time, she denigrates herself, insisting that she only became a writer because she was “awkward.” While she judges Grant quickly and cruelly, her assessment also reveals her attraction toward Grant, subtly setting up their future romance.

“Helen turns on the sink and washes last night’s dishes as she determines, it’s not really about him at all. It’s about some private rebellion she finds herself relishing in the idea of keeping Grant on the writing staff, despite having spent their last two in-person interactions in open hostility. What happens next? she keeps finding herself wondering in his company.”

Helen’s use of the word “rebellion” here evokes adolescence; she is using Grant to resist her parents’ control over her in adulthood in ways she did not in her youth. She “relishes” this, emphasizing how few pleasures she normally allows herself. Helen’s curiosity presents Grant as a character in her life who will let her enter a new stage of her own story and shrug off The Pressures of Social Roles and Expectations.

“He chances another look at Helen from across the table—she’s smiling nervously in a way that doesn’t reach her eyes as she listens to Nicole explain some detail about her dead grandmother’s coroner. Grant wonders sharply what it would be like to know something about Helen Zhang.”

This moment stresses that Grant is highly observant, in line with his earlier remarks to Helen about the importance of detail in writing. He senses Helen’s discomfort with forthright revelations, but he also fears attracting her attention. He also betrays his deep curiosity about her. This is a moment where the shift to his point of view underlines that their interest in one another is mutual.

“She hates how she can feel herself becoming a needy teenager again, looking to Suraya for approval, huddling with Saskia after class and bonding over how everyone else is probably in a group chat without us. She wonders what Michelle would say, then clicks off the thought like a forgotten porch light.”

Helen’s perfectionism is on full display here, as she grapples with seeing the screenwriting process as a regression to her youth. The brief reference to her sister stresses her vulnerability and her longing to be honest with someone. She uses the simile “like a forgotten porch light” to express her struggle with the thought, stressing her continued avoidance of her trauma or examination of her past, even though doing so would help her grapple with the problem.

“Remembering why he came out here, he adds, ‘You have to make more of an effort with everyone else, though. For the sake of the room, or for your books, if you don’t care about the rest of us.’ He turns on his heel and leaves her alone to sulk.”

In this scene, Grant finds his voice with Helen, telling her honestly that her behavior could damage her work. He assumes she is indifferent and unwilling to consider others. The characterization of her as “sulky” emphasizes the immaturity of her choices. In his professional capacity, Grant is comfortable giving Helen negative feedback, as insecure as he is when they interact personally, underlining how much he values his work.

“Maybe being bad at things in front of other people is the secret glue of friendship. The thought lights up like a Christmas tree in her stomach, and that’s when she realizes the edible has kicked in. Oh no, she thinks with a laugh, I’m thirty-one and peer pressure still works on me.”

Helen’s epiphany here is a moment of growth, where she understands that vulnerability builds relationships. The revelation is compared to a celebration, lighting up “like a Christmas tree,” showing that she feels liberated and free. Helen even laughs at herself for giving in to peer pressure, finding humor in her predicament, which establishes how much the change of setting relaxes her.

“He looks younger from this angle, she can see the teenager in him still like this. The Grant Shepard she’s spent the last ten weeks with is sharp and funny and wears his charisma like armor. This Grant sitting next to her now seems less guarded—tired, a little travel-worn, and somehow less self-conscious and more easily delighted.”

In this moment, Helen compares Grant to his adolescent self gently and positively, which indicates the change in their relationship. Helen now recognizes Grant’s good qualities: His intelligence and humor, and the ways that he, like her, avoids vulnerability, using his charisma to protect himself. Helen’s catalogue of Grant’s hidden depths demonstrates that she is coming to see him as a whole person and potential partner, even if she does not acknowledge it directly.

“‘Sure,’ he says finally. ‘If you want me there.’ She thinks about the day of Michelle’s funeral, of him showing up in a sweater and tie to the one room where his presence wasn’t just unwanted, it was firmly rejected. She wonders if he’s thinking about it now too, as his brown eyes seek out hers. ‘I do,’ she says. ‘Okay,’ he says softly. ‘I’ll be there.’”

The dialogue here conveys the depth of Grant’s doubt and hesitation as he and Helen are newly emotionally close. Helen, here, understands his doubts, remembering their past and the way her family once saw him. She offers him assurance, and despite whatever hesitation he feels, he agrees, demonstrating the depth of his growing care for her.

“Helen lifts her head slightly and studies Grant Shepard from closer up than she ever has before. ‘I feel like you’d be an oak tree. It’s like the golden retriever of trees.’ Grant laughs, a genuine laugh this time—the sound is jarring in the cemetery. Helen looks out at the view and tries to see a peaceful park instead of a final resting place.”

Helen’s words here are a gentle and humorous assessment, comparing Grant to a strong, supportive tree and a loyal, lovable dog. Grant’s laugh in response conveys the building rapport between them. The contrast between their growing bond and their painful surroundings underlines the power their past still holds over them, as Helen cannot truly forget where she is or what events brought them together.

“Helen shakes her head as she pulls into the driveway of her parents’ house. There is no and then what with Grant Shepard. There’s no world in which a night of temporary, sanity-obliterating horniness ends in anything but regret and awkwardness and avoidance and…and what if it’s too late and this ruins everything once we get back to LA?”

Helen externalizes her own thoughts with gestures, shaking her head as if to deny her feelings in whatever way she can. She admits to the depth of their sexual chemistry but denies any emotional attachment, stressing that she is still seeking distance. Returning to her parents’ home is presented as a regression, where she is trapped by the past. Her concerns about the future emphasize how new and uncertain her connection with Grant is in her life.

‘“It’s washable marker,’ he says, and her heart does a funny kind of flip. ‘If you’re worried about it.’ She is worried about it, though not about the washable blue ink. She’s worried that even after she washes it off, her skin will refuse to forget the feel of him. She’s worried they’re careening toward something inevitable.”

Helen’s reference to her heart flipping over betrays the trust and warmth she feels, despite all of her efforts to keep Grant at a distance. She expresses concern that she won’t be able to get rid of traces of Grant from her memories. The reference to “inevitability” reveals the lack of control she feels, as if Grant has taken her life off its previously planned track.

“He reaches out and brushes the hair from her face, and she thinks suddenly of how improbable it is that they’re both here, in his bed, after all this time. She thinks they must have both taken a few accidental wrong turns somewhere and feels a pressing, surprised kind of panic as she realizes how close they must have come to never having this happen at all.”

Helen’s meditations on contingency and chance emphasize how vulnerable she feels as she comes to care for Grant. The idea of his absence “panics” her, betraying the depth of her feelings. While Grant’s presence at Michelle’s funeral was unwanted, she now sees him as an unexpected gift she fears losing.

“It wasn’t even the kind of TV show she’d ever willingly watch, yet when she reached the last page, she felt a stupid compulsion to text him to ask what happened next. (She didn’t, of course.) She’d been unpleasantly humbled by his work and the knowledge that no matter how great on the page she eventually was, he’d always be one up on her for being capable of both.”

Helen comes to admire Grant as a writer, and this underlines that their creative selves are inextricable from their romantic journey. Helen thinks of his writing as a “compulsion” since she can neither resist his words nor his presence in her life. She dislikes feeling “humbled,” but her ability to acknowledge Grant’s talents showcases how their respect for each other has developed. This quote highlights The Link Between Creativity and Intimacy.

“‘I think you’ll be glad we ended this in a few months,’ Helen says, and he’s already shaking his head. ‘You’ll meet someone who’s fun and interesting and who can love you back without…without all this tortured drama.’ ‘I like your tortured drama,’ he says plainly.”

Helen’s words here are an attempt to dictate how Grant should live, as if he were a character in one of her novels. Since she is afraid to be vulnerable, she is trying to pull them backward with her desire to keep herself safe and in control. She tries to script an alternate future, even giving him a new partner who will be superior to her. Helen describing herself as “tortured,” which is an acknowledgement that her trauma is driving the breakup, rather than Grant’s view of her or what he wants from life.

“‘Michelle did,’ Helen says, hurling the words like knives across the room. ‘Maybe it’ll work out better for me.’ Dad grips the door handle as if he’s been hit. Mom stares at her with an expression of horrified betrayal. ‘How could you say such a terrible thing?’ she hisses. Helen laughs and wipes at tears that are flowing inexplicably down her face.”

Helen’s sharp declarations here demonstrate how her pain has led her to break the taboos in her family in as shocking a way as possible. Helen’s mother “hisses” at her, betraying the depth of her horror and pain. Helen’s reaction—she simultaneously laughs and cries—indicates just how much her feelings are overwhelming her, which is a huge contrast to her usual controlled demeanor. The accident has forced the lid off the emotions she keeps bottled up, and she is now confronting her past and her feelings.

“She opens her mouth and shuts it a few times, and he’s not sure if she’s gasping for air or trying to say something. How is she, he wants to ask, but doesn’t. Helen’s mother puts the box in her cart and turns around sharply, leaving him alone in the cake mix aisle. He thinks maybe this is the first time he’s heard her real voice.”

Mrs. Zhang struggles to react to Grant’s presence in her life, which he respects despite his wish for news of Helen. The reference to Mrs. Zhang’s voice could either indicate that her silence is powerful or refer to her question about the cake mix. The ambiguity mirrors the uncertainty she and Grant have in one another’s presence. She will later bake the cake mix for Helen, indirectly connecting the two incidents and connecting Helen and Grant.

“Helen feels like she wants to cry just then, thinking suddenly of all the fruit and cake and sugar they’ve exchanged over the years instead of I’m sorry and I love you, and she excuses herself to use the restroom before she gets on the road.”

Helen, like Grant at the grocery store, comes to recognize that her mother’s silences and gestures speak as powerfully as any more obvious declarations. After some time and space away from her parents, she is able to see them more charitably, underscoring that she has begun to heal from her upbringing. She still conceals her potential tears, underlining that she respects her mother’s reticence and still hesitates to be fully honest with her.

“It’s a working title, a placeholder for a pithier, more audience-tested title, if she ever reaches the finish line. When she reaches the finish line. Each chapter is a letter to Michelle, the completion of an old therapy prompt (and what would you say to your sister, if you could talk to her now?) that Helen resolutely rejected for the last fourteen years as she combed Michelle’s hard drive looking for a suicide letter instead.”

Helen’s description of her work in progress emphasizes her caution, as she emphasizes the “working title” and the “if” of whether the manuscript will ever be complete. Helen has chosen expression over self-flagellation, finally completing a therapy assignment. She is using her writing to help with her healing process, not merely her ambitions; she is creating new words rather than searching for evidence of her failures.

“Grant stares at the text on his screen and wonders if this is some kind of fucked-up reading-comprehension quiz he’s hallucinated into existence from sheer pent-up yearning. Yours, Helen.”

This moment demonstrates Grant’s lingering doubts and pain, as he assumes Helen is testing him. His “yearning” assures the reader of his enduring love. Helen’s choice to trust him with her writing is proof that she sees him as an emotional and creative partner.

“You don’t have to be completely healed to be everything I want. To be mine. I love every part of you, you silly, infuriating woman. I love the parts of you I haven’t even met yet.”

Grant’s words here are meant as an antidote to Helen’s perfectionism. He calls her both “silly” and “infuriating,” indicating that he does not need to idolize her to love her. He promises to love all the versions of her, committing to a future at the same time he confesses his love. His dialogue indicates that their core conflicts are nearing resolution.