There’s only one way to find out.

BOXES ARE STACKED UP everywhere in my house. HR set me up with a furnished apartment to start, so I don’t need to take my furniture right away. Dom is going to help me sell this place later, so for now, I’m just packing up the essentials and leaving the rest.

“Well, the basement is done,” Max reports, wiping his hands on a rag.

“Upstairs bathroom is done,” Logan chimes in.

I finish taping the box in front of me and place it on top of the nearest pile.

“Then I think we’re officially done. You guys up for a beer?”

“Of course.”

I grab three from the fridge and we head to the back deck. The furniture has been packed away into the garage, so we sit on the steps instead.

“I still think you should stay.” Max bumps my shoulder with his.

“Not this again.”

“It’s just not going to be the same without you here,” Logan complains.

“New York City is not that far away, just a short plane ride. Besides, I’ll be back for the bachelor party and the wedding in just a couple weeks.”

“You promise you’re coming?”

“I promise.”

“You are aware that Quinn is going to be there, too, right?”

“I am aware, but thank you for reminding me.”

“Monica was with her last night, you know.” He glances at me warily as if unsure how much he can say.

“Oh?” I’m not sure how much I want to know.

“She’s really upset.”

“That’s interesting. Considering it was her choice, not sure what she has to be upset about.” My voice is hard.

“Easy, easy.” Max raises his hands as if to say, I come in peace. “I thought it might give you some consolidation to know she’s not happy about it, and Monica said she didn’t know about the move.”

“Well how would she know? I accepted the position after she broke up with me.” Part of me is glad she knows—maybe it will give her a reason to realize she made a mistake. Maybe I want her to try to stop me from going. “How’s Sparky doing, Logan?” My abrupt subject change tells them I don’t want to talk about Quinn anymore.

“He’s good. That dog will eat anything though. He’s moved on from eating Tate’s shoes to eating my socks.”

“Your socks?” Max asks.

“My dirty socks. I was cleaning up the yard the other day and I kid you not, he shit out an entire sock.”

“Gross, yet somehow impressive.” Max chuckles.

“At least socks are cheaper to replace than Tate’s shoes.”

“That’s true.”

We chat some more about mundane things and I realize this is what I’m going to miss the most—my best friends. We talk and talk until we start repeating ourselves and I realize they don’t want to leave either.

“I’m going to miss you guys,” I tell them, smiling wide.

“I hate you for leaving,” Logan says without malice.

“We’re going to miss you, too. Don’t be a stranger, okay? Maybe we’ll have happy hour on Skype.”

“Okay, you’re on.”

I hug each one, chest to chest, and if our eyes are a little glassy, no one comments.

CHARLIE IS ALL OVER my house.

He’s in my bedroom.

He’s in my studio.

His pictures are on my website.

I can’t even pick up a paintbrush without thinking about him.

I’m in love with Charlie Nelson, and he’s moving away tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Every cell in my body screams at me to go see him, to beg him to stay, to convince him what I said before was bullshit, to tell him I can’t bear the thought of not being with him.

But…

That would require me to tell him everything, and when he knows I’m just as bad as Anna, I’m not so sure he will pick me.

Look at Reid. He was my husband, and when life got tough after losing Noah, he didn’t stick around. He fucked someone else in our bed. I shudder remembering how devastated I was when I saw him. After that, I built walls around my heart and never wanted to give anyone a chance to hurt me again.

Charlie has somehow gotten through those walls, but I still don’t want to make myself 100% vulnerable to him when I’m not sure he will pick me in the end.

Reid choosing another woman devastated me, yes, but I survived and moved on.

If I give Charlie the choice to be with me without a family or move on to find a family with someone else and he doesn’t choose me…I’m not sure I could survive it.

I tried to get out of attending the open house this month, but Suzanne insisted I come, excited about a new exhibit and new prospective clients.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I give myself a pep talk. You can do this. You can rejoin society for a couple of hours and not cry. You can talk to people with a smile on your face and be pleasant. I try a smile on for size, but it just makes me look like I’m constipated.

Whatever.

I might be sad, but I manage to get myself to Art Redefined. I plan to lay low today, just show Suzanne I’m there, smile for some new clients then feign a migraine and get back home. I’ll be here for 20 minutes, tops.

I make my rounds in the front gallery, trying to remember what pieces I brought for this exhibit. When I look at the feature wall, my mouth falls open.

My art is on the feature wall.

Not only that, pictures of me surround my art.

Pictures of me in my studio, hair in a messy bun, paint splattered all over my clothes, a look of determination and fierce focus on my face. My hand holding a paintbrush as I blend a color on the canvas. My wrist wiping sweat away from my face, leaving a smear of paint behind on my forehead. Each piece has two or three pictures of me around it, and they show me creating that very piece.

He has showcased my hard work with his pictures.

And everyone is buzzing around the exhibit. Among the small crowd gathered in front, I spot my parents. I stare at them, thinking I must be hallucinating. I blink, but they’re still there, staring at my work like everyone else.

“There you are!” Suzanne greets me. “What do you think? It’s magnificent, isn’t it?”

I nod, unable to form a coherent sentence yet. I’m completely overwhelmed.

“You’re not going to believe this, but your exhibit just sold out.”

My eyes widen. “Sold out? But they’ve only been for sale for like 20 minutes.”

She beams at me. “Sold out. And guess what else.”

“I’m not very good at guessing.”

“Everyone who bought a piece bought the pictures of you making it.”

“Really?”

“Really. They love Charlie’s photographs!” she confirms with a nod. “I’ve been talking to your parents, too! It was so nice of Charlie to send them tickets.”

Charlie sent my parents tickets?

They turn and catch me staring at them, open-mouthed. I don’t try to hide my shock, as they have never come here before. They’ve seen me paint and draw before, of course—I’ve been doing it ever since I could hold a pencil—but they never supported my career choice.

Slowly, they approach, and Suzanne leaves us to talk.

“Mom, Dad, what are you doing here?”

“Well, that friend of yours, Charlie, he sent us some tickets in the mail along with a letter,” my mom says.

“A letter?” What could he have possibly said to my parents?

“It would seem he’s quite taken with you.”

“What did he say?”

They glance at each other and my dad clears his throat. “He had some very strong opinions.”

Strong opinions?

“At first I was quite upset at the nerve of him,” my mom huffs.

“But he did make a couple of valid points.”

“Oh? Are you going to share those with me?”

“That good parents show their children unconditional love, that you deserve our support even if we don’t agree with your choices.” She looks away when she says the words, but I see her eyes shine.

I wrap my arms around my waist and stupid tears threaten to fall, but I’m not letting them off the hook with one nice gesture.

“You haven’t been very supportive.”

They both sigh, as if they practiced doing it in unison. “The divorce was hard for us to accept.”

“It was hard for me, too.”

“I realize that,” my mom says, eyeing the people walking around us, uncomfortable about talking like this in front of strangers.

“What your mom is trying to say is that we will try to do a better job showing you support.”

“Actions speak louder than words.”

“You’re right,” my dad agrees.

“Would you like to come to dinner next weekend?” My mom finally meets my gaze.

“Is Reid going to be there?”

“No, just the three of us—unless Charlie would like to come, too.”

“I think the three of us would be nice.”

“See you then. You did a great job here today, Quinn.” My mom nods to the exhibit behind her.

“We’re proud of you.”

I nod, taking in those rare words. I don’t reach out to hug them. I don’t tell my mom my heart is breaking. I don’t ask my dad for advice on how to fix my stupid mistake. We just don’t have that kind of relationship.

But I’m beyond touched that Charlie told my parents off and sent them tickets to my show.

And I’m glad they made an effort. It’s a good place to start.

My insides ache, telling me every cell in my body misses Charlie.

Charlie isn’t Reid. I need to talk to him before he leaves. I need to tell him how I feel.

Monica’s right, he deserves the right to choose.

I’m just afraid I’ve fucked up any chance I had with him by holding back the truth.

There’s only one way to find out.