I open the door and it’s Carli. At my house. Standing on my porch. Wearing some button-fly cutoffs and a vintage Jaws T-shirt. In front of the setting sun. Damn, she couldn’t be more perfect. So perfect I have to stop myself from picking her up, twirling her around, and carrying her into the house—honeymoon style.

Yeah, Rex. Forget about how she ignored you. How bad she treated you when you drove all the way over to her house in the freezing cold. And that look she gave you. Dawg, it was like she didn’t give a shit about you. Yeah, go ahead and let all that slide.

“Look who’s the stalker now,” I say playfully. I mean, somebody had to say something. The silence was getting weird.

“No, you gave me your address.”

“You said you were sending me something,” I say. “Not coming over.”

“Well, I lied!” Carli says, tilting her head and widening her eyes.

We both crack up laughing.

Call me a sucker, but damn being mad. I grab her hands, pull her into the house, and tell her, “I’ve missed you so much.”

Carli closes her eyes, almost like it hurts, and puts her head down. She looks like she’s about to cry. I pull her into me, and she buries her face in my shoulder. Warm tears soak through my T-shirt and she’s shaking.

What the hell just happened? I’m so confused. She was just laughing. Wait, did I do this? I swear to God I hate myself for ignoring her like that.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I’m so, so sorry,” I repeat, holding her tight and rubbing her back in slow circles, the way Angie used to rub mine as a child.

CARLI

“There’s so much I need to tell you,” I say under my breath, voice squeaking and trembling all over the place. I don’t expect him to understand me. I mean, I can barely understand myself. One minute I’m acting like a raging lunatic, the next minute I’m laughing up a storm, and the next I’m crying uncontrollably. I swear I don’t know who I am anymore.

“You can tell me anything. You know that, right?” Rex says, separates from me a little, and kisses my forehead with soft, wet lips. “I want you to tell me . . . everything. I want to know all of you.”

I don’t lift my head. Thick mucus is running down the slope below my nose and hanging over my top lip. Can you say gross? Oh, my gosh; I got it all over the shoulder of his white T-shirt.

“I have a lot to tell you, too,” he says, lifts my chin, and looks me in the eyes.