I reread the letter in my hand, almost unsure if I’d even read it right. I couldn’t have, right? This had to be a mistake. 

But since I’d had this letter for months I knew that, in fact, it wasn’t a mistake. 

God, how could Blake expect me to do this? I mean, seriously, why me? Aren’t there other people who might be better suited to this task? I wasn’t exactly well-known for my responsibility. 

But I was Blake’s best friend. We’d been best friends since we’d been kids, and I loved him like a brother. I may not be his most responsible friend, but I am the closest, even if I haven’t seen him in over a year. 

Which is exactly why I’m going to do this, even though it’s crazy. Even though Blake is asking too much. I owe him this. After missing the last year of his life, this is the least I can do. 

It wouldn’t be easy, though. And today was the day. After months of stewing over how to make this happen, the deadline had occurred. 

It had to be literally today. My instructions were very specific. I got the plans a few months in advance so I could prepare, but this was the day I was supposed to execute them. 

And I was definitely committed to doing this, because I truly felt indebted to him. But I still wasn’t sure how I was going to make it happen. 

Everything about this felt somber and sad, and I wasn’t good at this kind of thing. I didn’t do well with serious. People didn't really come to me for serious, they came to me for… fun. 

Not that I don’t have my moments of sadness, of course, I’m not some naturally happy-go-lucky guy. But I try to put a show on, I try to look that way. That’s the way I want people to think of me, even if it isn't exactly true. 

I’m the life of the party wherever I go. That sounds cocky, but it’s just the truth. I’m not constantly trying to be the center of attention, but I am positive and charismatic, so it just tends to happen that way. 

Of course, charisma won’t help me out here. In fact, my go-to lighthearted behavior probably isn’t going to work in this situation at all.

I smacked the letter into my hand a couple of times as I tried to will myself to go get my keys and get in the car. I couldn’t delay any longer. I was scared I’d get cold feet and back out. 

You know, this wasn't really what I wanted to come home to after my year-long trip in Europe. Europe was supposed to be a refresher for me. It was supposed to be my time to de-stress and get myself back on track mentally while exploring and learning new things. I was going to backpack all over Europe and just come back a completely different person. 

Well, I guess that last bit did happen. I did feel like a different person. But not in a good way. 

I felt worse about myself than I’d had before I’d left. Though, honestly, even if this tragedy hadn’t struck, I still don’t think I would’ve come back feeling like a brand new changed man. 

Because, truth is, I’m just not. Traveling didn’t change me. New experiences didn’t change me. No matter how far I ran from my problems or how hard I searched, I never could find what I was looking for. 

And, so, here I am. As lost as I’ve ever been, as confused as I’ve ever been, and I’ve been given this giant, emotionally intimidating task, and I have to do a good job on it. I have to carry out my old best friend’s last wish with grace to the best of my ability. 

As I got in my car, I put the address into my GPS, though I knew I didn’t need it. I’d looked up this address several times since my return home. 

And since I knew where it was, once I got on the road, I decided to disobey my GPS’ directions. I wanted to take the long way. I turned the radio up really loud and drove around in an attempt to calm my nerves. 

But, after twenty minutes of driving and feeling no calmer, I decided to just head over there and deal with my anxiety to the best of my ability. 

His house was in a nice neighborhood. Nothing super flashy or anything, it was pretty average, but all the houses were kept up pretty well. 

Actually, Blake’s husband’s house was probably the least well-kept. It didn’t look like a mess or anything, but compared to his neighbors’ houses, the grass was too long and appeared to be dying in places. 

I couldn't blame him for that, though. If I had to keep up with a lawn, I most definitely wouldn’t. 

I parked and walked up to his porch, fiddling with the letter in my hands as I did. It felt like my heart pounded faster with every step I took toward the door. 

It didn’t get any better when I started knocking, either. In fact, I felt worse as soon as my hand left the door. I was either going to pass out or throw up, and I honestly wasn't sure which one it would be. But my stress level was absolutely through the roof. 

I knew after I knocked, he’d be there at the door at any moment. And it was making my stomach churn.

After a minute or so, though, nobody had come to the door. I wondered if maybe he didn’t hear me and I should knock again, so I did. But still, no answer. 

I was getting frustrated, because, the longer I went without an answer, the more nervous I became. 

I kept knocking, a little obsessively, I might add. But I couldn’t help myself. I really needed him to come to the door. There was no way I could go home. I needed to do this, no matter how uncomfortable it was. 

I was beginning to think that maybe he wasn’t even home. But I still couldn’t bring myself to leave. Maybe I’d just wait until he got back… but, I didn’t have to, because I heard someone walking to the door. The knob seemed to turn in slow motion. 

“Excuse me!” he snapped, as he whipped open the door. 

“You’re excused,” I tried to say jokingly to lighten the mood.

It didn’t. 

“Why the hell are you pounding on my door?! Don’t you think it’s kind of fucking rude?!”

Okay, well, looks like I’m in for a fun time.