“Are we waiting for anyone?” Harrison, Dad’s lawyer, looks behind me. It’s early, both of us still finishing our fast food coffees, but he looks completely alert and ready to go. Excited, even.

I, on the other hand, look like I didn’t get to sleep until dawn, then woke up twenty times before my alarm. Which I did.

“The girlfriend,” I tell him, “ is no longer in the picture. If that’s what you mean.”

“Oh. Sorry to hear it.”

I shrug and straighten my tie.

After moaning another woman’s name, I endured quite a few slaps and choice words from Caitlin-Anne, all deserved. She was kind of a crappy girlfriend, but I was definitely a bad boyfriend. At least she kind of liked me. I didn’t care about her at all.

Not that I told her that, of course. Not even when she tore my apartment to shreds, collecting the things she’d slowly moved in against my will. Bad boyfriend or not, I wasn’t heartless. There’s nothing worse than realizing you care about someone more than they care about you.

“Bigger crowd than I expected,” Harrison says, as he peers outside. A line of about twenty people snakes down the driveway, each holding a ticket with their number. There are at least thirty more in their cars, AC blasting.

“Is that good?”

“Of course. More people, more money.”

I recognize some nosey old ladies in line from Mel’s church, where I spent most of my Sundays, growing up. They always smelled like the bottom of a purse: powder and mint and aqua-coated pennies. I have a feeling they’re just here to gawk. Now they’re even older and nosier.

Harrison checks his watch and heads for the door. “Let’s go have an auction!”

“Great,” I sigh. I step outside into the sun, and the crowd goes silent.

Josh and I sit in his car at the end of the cul-de-sac. It’s bright, but I left my sunglasses at home on purpose. Unlike the funeral, I don’t plan on hiding this time.

“Thirty,” Josh says, reading his ticket. “They’re letting...what, twenty in now? So I’m guessing we’ll be in the next group.”

“When does that happen?”

“Whenever the first group leaves. Estate sales are a first-come, first-serve kind of deal. Told you we should’ve gotten here sooner.”

I’m not listening anymore; the front door opens, and my chest has a strange, achy burn when Blake steps outside with another guy in a suit. They join the auction company on the lawn to welcome the first group inside.

It’s like this each time I see him: my heart jumps, my palms sweat, and my brain cranks through every conversation we ever had, every secret we ever shared. I think of the small boy, and then lanky teenager, he used to be. My brain can’t fit that with the muscle-bound, square-jawed man he is now.

“Shit,” Josh says, noticing. “When did he bulk up like that? Last I saw him, he was just a shrimpy kid.”

“I don’t know.” I watch as the line files inside, and Blake follows. He looks exhausted.

While we wait, Josh plays games on his tablet. I pick at the bagel I bought on the way here, digging out every raisin with my thumb.

“So,” he says, “you never actually told me why you guys stopped talking.”

“I didn’t? Huh.” I’m faking my surprise, because I didn’t tell anyone. It took people a while to even notice, and by then it was easily explained away. I don’t know what Blake told his dad, if anything. I just told Mom we’d grown apart.

But Josh never asked, so I never had to lie. Maybe I still would, if we weren’t about to traipse through Blake’s childhood home while strangers pick it clean like a chicken carcass. Something about the situation makes me feel like I should tell Josh the truth.

“We hooked up, the summer after graduation,” I say, finally, “and he wanted to make things official. You know—boyfriend and girlfriend. But I didn’t.”

“Really? Why not?”

This question has haunted me for years, and I still don’t have a real answer. Not one that justifies three entire years apart.

“I don’t know. It freaked me out. I mean, I never thought of him like that, until then. And I was scared we’d mess up our friendship.”

He laughs through his nose. “You still messed up your friendship.” Cutting his eyes at me, he adds, “Sorry. Just saying.”

“It’s okay. It’s true.” My eyes sting as I take a breath, the bagel now in shreds across the napkin in my lap. “But that’s why I’m here.”

“Do I even need to be here?”

Harrison watches me take off my tie. “No, not necessarily,” he says, “but are you sure you don’t want to stay?”

“It’s my dad’s stuff, not mine. What do I care?”

“It may be his stuff, but it’s your estate. And all that money coming in? That’s yours, too.” He motions to the auction company’s table, lined with lockboxes and cash drawers, the workers sorting change into buyers’ hands before they walk off with photo frames, electronics, and Dad’s taxidermy collection. One woman is hefting a moose head by the antlers. I want to tell her to grab the plaque, instead, but stop myself. I don’t care, right?

“But I can leave,” I clarify. Harrison spreads his hands, like I’ve got him over a barrel. Eventually, he nods.

Being in Dad’s house again gets to me more than I thought. By the time I make it to my car, my hands are shaking. I feel my heart kick into overdrive, its signature move when I’m stressed. Driving is probably a bad idea, but with the second group of people already heading inside, staying here seems like a worse one.

“Um...hi.”

Who I’m expecting when I turn, I’m not sure. Church ladies? Another lawyer? Caitlin-Anne or one of her bitchy friends, out for blood?

I should know who it is, though, before I even look. Maybe I do.

“Hey,” I say, as Mel shields her eyes from the sun and steps closer.