She’s been in Boston all summer, and it’s been hard knowing that she’s been so close and still so far. We emailed a couple times in the beginning—she wanted to tell me she got into the summer program, and since I was still in-patient, I didn’t have my phone. I was open about where I was and what I was doing. She said she was glad, because she worried all the time that I was dead. I said there was something really wrong about that, and I was sorry for what I had put her through. And then I didn’t hear from her again. Until the text.

It’s been hard not texting her—I know she still sometimes talks to Gray—but I wanted it to be her decision to reach out . . . Well, more like my therapists wanted it to be her decision, if I’m being honest. But they helped me see that I really didn’t want to force my way back into her life; I wanted her to want me there. And if she didn’t, that was fair and fine and valid, and I would work through it in my counseling sessions.

“Ridley?” she says, putting her hand on my shoulder, and I jump, because I was expecting her to come from the path in front of me and she snuck up from behind.

God, she looks so beautiful. Her hair is longer, and she’s got a bit of a tan. I notice a small scar on her wrist and forearm from the surgery and frown, but only for a second before it moves out of sight as she pulls me into a hug. And maybe I breathe in a little too deep, trying to memorize the scent of her shampoo. I had forgotten what it smelled like until right now, and I don’t want to forget again.

“It’s so good to see you,” she says, stepping back and tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

“You too.”

We both sort of laugh a little awkwardly, and she looks down, toeing designs in the sand with her white tennis shoe.

“I missed you,” I say, and then clap my hand to my forehead, because I didn’t mean to be this obvious.

“I missed you too,” she says with a little laugh.

“Yeah?”

She raises her eyebrows and nods, like I’m ridiculous for even asking that.

“Do you want to . . . ?” I trail off, not sure how to finish. Start again? Get lunch? Be my girlfriend? And shit, I wasn’t going to be this eager; I wasn’t supposed to push.

“Ridley,” she says sadly.