They sit there, looking up at me like I’ve grown a third eye, and they don’t know how to tell me. “What?” I ask.

Amanda says, “We didn’t want to interrupt.”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

Standing up, my dad rubs my back. “Are you doing okay?”

“Fine,” I snap, “never better.”

“You sound never better.” His eyes go wide like he’s signaling for Amanda to step in. Just great. They’re now a tag team?

I hold out my hands to stop her from stepping in like I’m a delicate matter they need to handle. “I am.” I start walking toward the apartment. “Let’s drop this off, and we’ll go eat.”

“I think eating will help,” Amanda says, keeping pace but staying a few feet behind me. “Food makes me feel better.”

Better . . . this is not better than I hoped for. No, it’s not better at all. It’s worse. I’m tired of putting on a brave face for everyone, for pretending that a relationship I had at twenty-one isn’t still defining my life four years later, and what ticks me off the most—I’m still in love with him. “Fuck!” I yell at the top of my lungs.

I close my eyes, but it’s too late to stop the tears from coming. My dad comes around and wraps me in his blanketing arms. With me tucked under his shoulder, we walk the rest of the way to the apartment.

By the time I wash my face, the storm has blown over. I change into something more comfortable and go into the living room. “I’m ready. I’m so hungry.” We move into the hallway, but I push back in and grab the large, unopened box.

“What are you doing with it?” Amanda asks.

“Getting rid of it.”

“I’ll take it if you’re throwing it away.”

I laugh. It’s light but feels good to release. “I’m not throwing it away.”

“What are you doing with it then?” She holds the lobby door open for me.

Returning to the sunshine, the day is warm, and the sky is blue. It feels a lot like a new beginning, so I can’t have ghosts still haunting me. Standing on the sidewalk, I look down the street in both directions until I see him in his Maserati. “I’ll be right back.”

Marching right up to his car, I stand in front of it until he gets out. I move around and shove the box at him. “I don’t want your gifts.”

I expected a look of shock or dismay, something like I’ve seen in the movies I love, but he doesn’t give me that. Instead, he takes the box and puts it in his back seat. With my arms crossed over my chest, I add, “I want nothing to do with you, Harbor.”

“And why is that exactly?” he asks, so freaking innocently.

I roll my eyes. “Let me make this perfectly clear for you. You disappeared without a trace, leaving me without even the courtesy of an explanation. I still don’t know why you needed to leave or if it was something I did—”