Joy shoots Taryn a perturbed look.

“It’s true. I hate that about you.”

“Hate you more.” She looks around. “I’m only doing this because I’m drunk. I feel so foolish,” Joy mutters. She weighs a coin in her palm, a dime. Here goes nothing.

She closes her eyes and brings Dylan to mind. She can’t think of one thing she hates about him, so she zeroes in on all the times that he needled her. He’d annoy her for the sole purpose of being annoying, like that evening at the Midpoint Café.

“I hate that he could be the sweetest guy one second and a total asshole the next.”

“Good! But say it like you’re talking directly to him,” Taryn interrupts before Joy can toss the dime. She pats Joy’s shoulder. “This will be very therapeutic.”

“Thank you, Dr. Taryn.” She closes her eyes again. “I hate that you were such an asshole.”

“Better. Now say it with conviction.” Taryn growls, baring her teeth and waving her fists.

Joy would laugh at Taryn if she didn’t feel foolish. “I hate that you’re an asshole,” she yells, and hurls the dime.

Taryn claps. “Do it again.”

She palms a nickel. “I hate that I can’t stop thinking about you,” she shouts, and overhands the coin.

“Feel better?” Taryn asks.

“I do.” Taryn may be onto something.

She picks a quarter, pictures Dylan’s face. “I hate how attracted I was the first moment I saw you.”

Kerplunk.

Taryn laughs. “Love it. Again.”

“I hate how you kissed me,” she hollers, then turns to Taryn. “He was the best kisser,” she says, wistful, the memory of Dylan’s lips on hers bright in her mind.

Plunk.

“I hate that you wrote a song about me. I hate that you had someone else sing it. I hate that you produced an entire album about our road trip.” The album brought everything wonderful about that road trip into the present, giving new life to feelings she’s struggled to tamp down. Or better yet, keep on the road since it happened on the road. She pitches the dime, grabs another.

“I hate that you sing like you’re singing to no one else but me.”

“I hate that you called me out, that you could see the real me.”

“I hate the way you’d look at me, like I meant the world to you.”

“I hate . . . I hate that I let you leave.”

Joy’s arms slide loosely to her sides. What if she hadn’t? What if they’d turned the ten most magical days she’d experienced into a spectacular life? What if she hadn’t been afraid to let go of Judy’s dreams to live her own? To truly take full responsibility of her mistakes and let everyone know what she’d done?