I haven’t been to the bowling alley in a long time, but when I step in tentatively, a flood of nostalgia nearly overwhelms me. It’s strange, because it looks so different, but it smells exactly the same - the combination of alley wax, slightly burnt soft pretzels, and tonic water - and if I didn’t know this was the bowling alley just two blocks from my house, I’d have thought it was in a different state.

My eyes glance upward, at all of the newly-installed screens above the ball returns. They used to be the old-school style ones, where the balls would race back to the players between beams next to each lane, but now they’re the below-floor kind. The main lobby area used to be carpeted in bright orange area rugs taped down on the edges with clear packing tape and worn out in spots, but now, there’s dark cherry wood slats horizontally across the entire alley, the lanes flanking the large space on either side.

But the shoe rental stand is still straight ahead, and the smell is still exactly the same. You can try to scrub away what a place used to be like, I guess, but you can never really get rid of it, and that smell sends my mind back to that summer after college, sending little details of me and Travis right to the forefront of my mind.

I remember him once taking me back where the mini shoe-lockers were set up behind the bar. He was always so cool, in some t-shirt of a band I didn’t know. He kissed me up against the lockers, and someone had left their orange key sticking out of the keyhole. Travis noticed and gently put his hand on the small of my back and maneuvered me away from it. He asked what I thought was inside there, and I said it was probably just someone’s shoes. He pretended to start to open it, but then he stopped, giving me a cute smile and pressing his lips to mine, never taking his hand off the small of my back.

“You still with me here?” Sarah’s voice cuts through my memory, sending me reeling back to the present. I look over to her and realize that we’ve barely made it more than a few steps into the bowling alley, when a strange feeling hits me in the gut. It’s not nostalgia - it’s something else. It’s something like nostalgia, but the sadness at its edges is dulled and blurred with a suggestion, just a flicker, of hope.

“Yeah,” I say, striding forward with her, trying to act with all the confidence I can muster. “Let’s go get that drink.

We cut around the shoe rental stand and past lanes of older men, sipping beer and chatting casually, not paying that much attention to their games. When we get to the bar, we take our position at the end, plopping our handbags and elbows down.

Behind us are round tables with three or four chairs pulled up to each, but besides a young couple sitting at a table tucked into the corner with a light-up St. Pauli girl behind them sharing a basket of onion rings and looking sweetly into each other’s eyes, the place is empty.

Sarah flags down the bartender, and I decide I need to make the most of this situation. She orders two beers, the bartender’s eyes glued to the deep-v neck of her grey t-shirt.

“I look out of place,” I say to Sarah as the bartender slides two tall glasses of foamy light-amber beer across the bar to us. She takes a crumpled twenty out of her miniscule purse and smooths it out on the sticky bar.

“You do not,” she says, looking down at my shoes. “You’re perfect.”

I take the glass to my lips and close my eyes, letting the froth at the rim of the glass hit my lip as I tilt the glass back and take a sip. It’s been an hour since I left the police gala, and I’ve never been much of a drinker, but right now it seems like I should be. All of the young recruits and old-timers were drinking beers like it was a regular custom for them, and if I’m going to fit in with them, I should probably learn to conform. Aside from the glass of champagne I grabbed on my way out of the party earlier just so I’d have something to do with my hands, I hadn’t had anything to drink all night.

Letting out a deep sigh, I put my glass back down on the bar and look over at Sarah. Her face is cast down toward the bar, and her eyes are focused on nothing. It’s not like her to be at a loss for words. She was always the first one to speak up in class, whether she knew the answer or not. That’s one of the things I always admired about her. She leaps first and asks questions later. That’s one of the most admirable qualities. To live without fear.

“Okay,” I say. “What is it?”

“What? I didn’t say anything.”

“Exactly. So get to it. What’s going on in there?” I point to her forehead, the tip of my index finger connecting gently. “Spill.”

She takes a small sip of her beer and puts the glass back down on the bar, and I notice there are a few more people starting to filter in. I try to look at them out of the corner of my eye, and keep myself toward Sarah. I feel like every time someone new comes in, it could be Travis, but I know it’s unlikely. Sill, it keeps my heart close to my throat.

“Okay. I didn’t know that it was Travis’ day to come home, that’s all. And I guess I’m just concerned for you. And I feel stupid for making such a big deal out of the thing with Colin.”

“Oh,” I say, waving my hand through the air between us. “That’s nothing. And I don’t blame you for being curious about Colin. He’s a good guy.”

Sarah shoots me a glance and lifts a skeptical eyebrow at me.

“He is!” I say. “He’s actually too perfect. Just the kind of guy I should want.”

“You mean just the kind of guy your dad wants for you.” She purses her lips into a straight line. She’s absolutely right. “This is all the more reason for you to tell me all the things that are wrong with him.”

“There’s nothing wrong with him,” I say despondently. “That’s the whole problem. It would be easy to dismiss him out of hand if there was truly some huge red flag. But there isn’t. That’s the issue here.”

“Did you ever think that maybe you’re the problem?”

“That’s harsh,” I say, but maybe she has a point. Something isn’t connecting between me and Colin, and it isn’t his fault. It makes sense that it could be a problem with me.

“Just think about it. He’s perfect, but just not perfect for you. And that’s only a problem because you’re the one who has to be in a relationship with the guy. Or not. What I’m trying to say is that this is all up to you. No one else.”

She’s right. It is up to me. Then why do I feel so helpless? My mind drifts back to that night. I had the ring Travis had given me on my finger, and I feel so good about my choice to say yes. But then everything fell apart, his name forever attached to a docket number and my father telling me everything that I never wanted to be true about him.

That night made me question everything, and now I don’t know how I can trust even myself. I keep wondering if I was partly to blame for the way that night happened.

My choices aren’t mine alone anymore. And I don’t know who they belong to, which is scarier than having to make them for myself.