Chapter One

As usual, I returned home from work to an empty house. I walked up the path to my front door. I pulled the keys out of my pocket and began fumbling with the lock. In my exhaustion, I nearly missed the envelope lying at my feet.

Shoving the key into the lock, I bent down to pick up the envelope. I opened the door and walked into my house. It felt lonely as I sat the envelope down on the kitchen counter and turned to the cupboard beneath the sink. I pulled out a bottle, pouring myself a glass of whiskey.

The sun was beginning to set as I climbed the stairs. I let myself out onto the balcony of my bedroom. I sipped the drink, feeling the comforting heat of the liquid as it flowed down my throat. I watched the sun from the window, dipping low behind the other houses that looked exactly like mine lining the street. The sky exploded in color, pinks and oranges in the midst of blue.

This had become my evening ritual. As I stared out over the suburban neighborhood, I felt the familiar twinge of longing. I never really knew what it was for. I guessed there was a large part of me that wanted something more.

Soon the sun had disappeared from sight and the night sky had darkened, dotted with only a few stars. The lights of the suburbs weren’t as bad as the lights of the city, but it still managed to blot out those twinkling ones above. I made my way into the house, my glass empty, and began getting ready for bed. I was glad that the weekend had arrived and I could sleep in the following morning.

The envelope was waiting for me on the kitchen counter. I had momentarily forgotten about it. I put my glass down in the sink and picked it up, turning it over. It had no address written on it. I pulled open the top drawer and grabbed a butter knife, slicing the thing open.

A single sheet fell out of the envelope. The untidy handwriting was familiar to me before I read what it said. I picked it up off of the counter to find a single line written hastily across the center of the page.

Meet me at our secret spot.

The confusion hit me hard. I blinked at the words, trying to match the handwriting to a face in my mind. Who was I supposed to meet and where?

Rather than deal with it then, I decided to put the letter down. I would try to figure it out in the morning, when my mind was clear and I was wide awake. I walked back up the stairs to my bedroom and hopped into the shower. Afterwards, I climbed into my bed, the clean sheets soft and welcoming.

***

When I woke the following morning, sunshine spilled through the open balcony door and into my room. I could feel heat where it touched my skin. I lay there for a while, my eyes shut, trying to force myself back into sleep. The brightness of the day made my head throb, despite having had only a single glass to drink the night before.

Eventually, I had to admit defeat. I climbed out of bed and walked out onto the balcony. All the way down the street, I watched as families packed up their cars, ready to head away for the long weekend. It was way too early to be up and about.

I walked back into my house and made my way down the stairs. I opted for a glass of orange juice instead of the whiskey, seeing the bottle waiting for me on the counter along with the letter from the previous evening. I opened the fridge and took a swig directly from the bottle. I picked the letter up, reading over it once more.

Ultimately, it was the sound of a car boot slamming that brought everything to light. Pulling the blinds apart, I looked out of my kitchen window and caught sight of my neighbors. Two little boys were getting into the backseat of the car, one of them playing a game on a cell phone, and the other was asking his mom if she had remembered to pack the car snacks.

“Shit,” I murmured.

A glance at the magnetic calendar on my fridge and I knew it was Good Friday. Everyone was going away for the long weekend, something I used to do with my parents and my childhood best friend, Roland. In a month’s time, I would be a year older, as would Roland. I looked back down at the letter still in my hand, rereading and analyzing the writing. It was suddenly beginning to come back to me as I looked down. It was definitely his untidy scrawl. I had seen enough of it growing up to be able to identify it.

The memories came rushing back to me as I stared down at the writing. Roland and I had grown up together. We had met in kindergarten and stayed best friends all the way through to the end of high school. It had been a long time since I last saw him, more than a decade since the day we graduated and he left for college. In a few weeks, we would be turning thirty. Our birthdays were only a day apart and we always celebrated them together, on that in between day.

The paper in my hand began to make a lot more sense the longer I thought about it. Roland and I had made a deal. We had made a pact when we were teenagers in our final year of high school. If either of us were single by the time we reached the age of thirty, we had agreed to meet up at the very place we had made the pact.

It had been Roland’s idea. At the time, he felt he would never find anyone. The dreaded “forever alone” feelings loomed over him. Thus, he turned to his best friend and suggested that when we reached the age of thirty, we get together and see how it goes. I had forgotten all about it as the years passed. I had agreed, only because I thought that Roland would have forgotten all about it, too.

Based on the letter, it was safe to assume that he had not forgotten.

In several ways, one could say that I had led Roland on. It was never my intention to do so. I had always held onto the hope that he would find someone else and move on from me. He was my best friend. The last thing I had ever wanted to do was hurt him. I couldn’t deny that I was terrified of losing his friendship. So, I never told him the truth about how I felt.

Twelve years later, he was giving me the chance to do exactly that.