“So what is the formula to happiness?” I asked.

“It’s a mixture of sorts. Maybe it’s looking at ourselves in the mirror and thinking, ‘holy shit I’m resilient.’ But nobody builds resiliency from having a happy, easy life. It’s always built upon a foundation of pain. Adrian, when I was in the hospital, I was in a lot of pain, but I’m still here. I survived, and I learned how to smile again. I learned how to have a good day, and dude, today was a good day. Today felt like the magic I’m always searching for. That’s what I want to live for.”

She skipped rocks across the lake with an unapologetic grin.

“Try it.” She passed me a rock.

I did, and the rock sank as soon as it hit the water.

She laughed. “There’s still a lot to teach you, AC.”

I just grinned. I didn’t know what to say, because there was so much I wanted to tell her. So many feelings wrapped up in my chest. Instead of bringing them up, we skipped rocks for a bit, enjoying the quiet and being away from bullies, teachers, and parents.

I was one of the people who hurt her. I regretted it every day. We hurt the people we love because we because we think they can handle our pain, too. It’s not our loved one’s job to carry that burden, and Mel didn’t owe me anything. It had taken a lot for me to realize that.

“Let’s start that fire, eh? It’s starting to get chilly,” Mel said, and we walked back to the campsite.

“Give me your wallet.” Mel had her hand out.

I passed her my wallet, and she grabbed the piece of paper that had her number on it and set it ablaze with her lighter, dropping it on the firewood. We sat down on an old wooden bench that was placed in front of the fire pit.

“You wanna spend the night here?” Mel asked, looking back at the cabin. “The nostalgia is giving me a throwback.”

“It’s Friday. Yeah, we can spend the night.”

Mel smiled while warming up near the flames.

“So, you wanted to talk? About stuff?” she brought up.

My heart began sinking in what felt like quicksand, but I knew I had to be honest.

“Yeah,” I began. “I . . . uh . . . I wanted to talk about stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“About you, and about me.”

“Oh,” she said, drifting off into what felt like anxiousness.

“Yeah,” I said. I could feel it, too. “I . . . still have major feelings for you. You give still give me butterflies. I know this might be weird, I know this might be sudden.”

“I could feel it coming.” She looked up. “You haven’t said much at all since we parked. Honestly, Adrian. You still give me butterflies, too. But this leads to the question, is this what we both need right now?”

That was a good question. Was it what I needed? Was it what she needed? I didn’t know. What I needed was to find a support system to help me get back on track to health. Mel needed support, too. She needed healing, and maybe some space. The last few years hadn’t exactly been easy for her.