We’ve lived here for just over a week. I moved back to the South from Boston as soon as I graduated from medical school. Sloane left her job as an administrative assistant at a fashion magazine in New York City to return to Charleston and start work as a paralegal at a private law firm. After one week, both of our jobs are still exciting and nerve-racking—and in my case, exhausting.

My first shifts as an honest-to-God doctor were fueled by pure adrenaline. It was mildly—and by mildly, I mean, paralyzingly—terrifying to realize that years of flash cards and tests and clinicals resulted in the responsibility of having people’s lives in my hands. Knowing that would be the case was very different than actually meeting patients relying on me to diagnose and treat them correctly.

I found my first few days overwhelming. Sloane found hers underwhelming. I’m not sure if she regrets moving back—not yet, at least—but I’m grateful she did. The two of us grew up practically attached at the hip. It wouldn’t feel like home without her here.

June sunshine filters down from the sky as we wait for Jimmy to arrive. It’s only eleven a.m. The sun hasn’t risen directly overhead, but it’s already burning bright and full. I acclimated more to the Northeast climate than I realized because the heat is harsher than I expected.

I study the exterior of our new home from the curb. We lucked out, finding this place. The bungalow is newly renovated but still has the charm the bazillions of cookie-cutter apartments we looked at sorely lacked. Its only downside is that the bus routes ensure it takes me half an hour to make it to work. Once I have a car, that will get cut down to fifteen. The brick exterior and front porch make up for it for now. There’s also a patio in the backyard, perfect for enjoying the summer nights. Sloane and I strung up lights out there last night. Despite the fact that less than half of our belongings have been unpacked, it feels like home.

Jimmy pulls up in a silver Prius less than a minute later. I text Noah back as we start down the street.

Evie: We’ll just meet you there.

I slip my phone back into my bag and then stare out the window at the colorful buildings of Charleston as they flash by.

“What do you think?” A photo of a blond man standing next to a surfboard is waved in front of my face, blocking the scenery. “He’s cute, right?”

I squint at the screen. “That’s an old photo.”

“What?” Sloane pulls it back and peers at it. “How do you know?”

“That’s at Folly Beach. They built that huge hotel up behind it, remember? The construction started right before I moved to Boston.”