At one of the first parties Oliver ever threw, Hannah and I wandered away from everyone else. She took my hand and pulled me along to a carved stone love seat set into the overgrown lilac bush. If you shook the branches, petals landed in your hair. I was fuzzy from Bacardi Breezers that night and the garden seemed like the quietest, warmest place in the world. Hannah and I sat side by side, legs touching. I thought I could hear her heart beating in time with mine. She intertwined our fingers and hummed along, out of tune, to music playing in the house. I didn’t even stop to think before I kissed her, as though thinking would break the moment.

That’s how I kissed the only girl I ever loved to a corny eighties pop hit. When the sax solo kicked in, we broke apart laughing. For years afterward all we had to do was hum a few bars and we would giggle. It became a refrain for our relationship. A code between us. Whenever I felt sad or stressed, she’d hum a few bars and I couldn’t help but laugh and feel like everything would be OK. Because I had her.

Let me give you a word of advice. Never, ever have “your song” be something cheesy. Even if it’s funny at the time. Even if nothing else makes any sense. I beg you, pick something epic, something soft and timeless and sweet. Because one day when you’ve had your heart broken, you will cry every time you hear that song. And nothing will make you feel more utterly ridiculous than being the girl who cries at “Careless Whisper.”

I was about to sit down on the bench when I noticed, on the other side, a person lying on the ground, their torso underneath the bush, their legs and bum sticking out.

If I hadn’t stared at that bum earlier, I would have assumed a drunk person had crawled under there and passed out. I stood for a second, wondering how to play this, then I heard her making strange kissing sounds and I burst out laughing before I could stop myself.

In a flash, the girl shimmied out from the bush and popped up onto her feet with surprising agility.

“So this is embarrassing,” I said.

She planted one hand on her hip and looked at me, confused. “Why are you embarrassed?”

I stared.

“I mean for you?”

She frowned like she was trying hard to think of what she had to be embarrassed about.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes, but I saw her try not to smile.

I reached out and picked a leaf that had nestled in the folds of fabric around her neck.

“You’re right, totally normal to find a girl face-first in a bush at a party.”