I told the counselor that I’d had this idea, like this momentary thought that maybe, maybe if I had a baby, then things would be okay. Like, I’d have some value in the world. Someone would need me and maybe that need would be the thing, the thing that would make me good and also would keep me from the pills. And maybe take the sadness away. But the thought, the thought of ending up like Mae’s birth mother, with the drugs and child protective services and then this acorn-that-is-now-a-tree having to go into foster care because I’m such a fuckup—Micah was right. The clinic, it was the right thing to do. I’m glad I had the choice. That no one took it away from me.

I just wish I hadn’t had to make it in the first place.

The counselor looked at me for a long moment: She had red hair and green eyes and it was like this Celtic priestess had come to hear my confession. And she rested a hand on my knee and she said, “Whatever you decide, Hannah, remember this: You are enough.”

When she left the room, I put on the scratchy gown, lay down, and closed my eyes.

What haunts me isn’t what happened—I don’t think it was wrong. But what is killing me is how something got taken off the table. Taken by the look on Micah’s face when I showed him the stick with the two lines. And because I’d made other choices, bad ones. I didn’t really get to decide—am I ready to be a mom yet?—because of what was in my blood, all those diamonds I couldn’t stop swallowing because they fill me with sparkling, glittery light. Like binge-eating starlight.

But the universe gave me this wake-up call and I didn’t ignore it. I didn’t. Five months clean.

Until today. Because a drink counts. Which means I’ll be back to day one, if I get to day one, and day one fucking sucks.

They say you’re clean, but then why do I still feel so dirty all the time? There is no clean. Not for girls like me.

“Where’ve you gone, Nah?” Micah murmurs. He runs a finger between my eyes, to the thinking-too-hard wrinkles between them.

“Nowhere,” I say.

He smiles. He doesn’t understand what nowhere means to me.

“I miss you.” He rubs the tip of my nose with his. “I miss my girl. I know it’s been hard. That you’ve been sad. I want us to be okay. Me being here, in college—this isn’t going to change anything. I promise.”

And this is why love is so confusing: because now he’s my sweet surfer boy who makes my heart beat a little fast again.

“I love you,” I whisper.