Molly and Brayden decided to have the big day at our family’s cabin about thirty minutes outside of Jackson Harbor. At the time, I didn’t think anything of it. They were planning it for the spring on the tiny beach in front of the lake, and I was thinking of Molly in a white dress, of Brayden with that dumbstruck, loving look he’s had on his face since Molly moved back from New York. I was not thinking of Easton Connor being back in town. I wasn’t thinking of the house where we played Never Have I Ever and he snuck into my room after midnight to sleep next to me. I wasn’t thinking of New Year’s Eve.

Now I’m thinking of those things. Since he’s practically family, everyone assumes he’s coming. As twisted up as the idea makes me, I’d be disappointed in him if he didn’t.

“I like that one, Shayleigh,” Mom says.

We’re trying on bridesmaid dresses. Molly decided she didn’t want us all to match. She wants us to wear different spring colors in knee-length dresses of any style. I’ve realized since the minimal plans have been in motion that if I told Molly I wanted to show up in PJs, she probably wouldn’t bat an eye. All that matters to her is Brayden.

I look down at the dress my mom likes so much. It’s a warm peach strapless dress with a high waist and a poufy skirt that makes me think of 1950s swing dresses. It shows off my legs, toned from running and twice-weekly weights. I love my legs and I feel pretty in this, which is a plus. I have much more confidence than I did when I was a teenage girl in love with Easton, but feeling pretty still doesn’t come easily.

I look to Molly. “Do you like it?”

“You look amazing,” she says with a big smile.

“When are we finally going to meet the boy you’ve been seeing?” Mom says.

I force a smile. Boy is not the best word to describe George Alby. “I don’t think that’s going to happen, Mom.” And I don’t want to analyze why this is a relief to me—why the idea of introducing George to my family makes me a little queasy. And that feeling isn’t a product of the breakup. It’s always been there.

But why didn’t I want my family to meet him? Was I worried they’d judge me for sleeping with the chair of my dissertation committee? Hell, I’m judging me. Or is it because I knew they’d recognize what I already knew on a gut level? George and I aren’t a good fit.

“Why the secrecy?” Ava asks, coming out of a stall. She’s wearing a blush rose one-shoulder gown.