January 15th—Drew would have been twenty-six today. This was the first year that I wouldn’t be spending his birthday with his family. Mr. Martin had retired a few months back and had finally convinced Mrs. Martin to move to Atlanta, where Drew’s sister already lived. I was happy for them, but when they packed, it meant they had to pack up Drew’s things. Even last year, six years after Drew died, his room had been untouched when I went over to celebrate his birthday.

The car ride out to the cemetery was long. I was alone with my thoughts and tried to recall memories of the good times Drew and I shared. Homecoming, senior year in high school. I smiled. Some of the guys from the team had booked a few hotel rooms, and we all went back after the game.

That first time Brody kissed me in his hotel room, it hit me so hard, I wouldn’t have been able to stand if he wasn’t holding me so tight.

I forced Brody from my head. Again. It was becoming a full-time job lately. A plane from the nearby airport was flying low overhead in front of me. I remembered back to when Drew and I flew to Alabama to meet the football coach of the college he was planning on attending. It was my first flight, and my nerves were on edge. Drew had held my hand and calmed me by telling dirty jokes.

Brody took my breath away on the plane with a kiss and tried to stick his hand up my skirt under the blanket.

I switched on the radio station. It only jumbled my mind more.

Pulling up to the cemetery, my phone buzzed, so I put it on speakerphone and sat in my car to talk.

“Hi, Mrs. Martin.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Jana, dear?”

I smiled. “Hi, Jana.”

“That’s better. How are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m good. How are things in Atlanta?”

“Hot.”

I looked at the temperature on the dashboard. Thirty-five. “Wish I could say the same.”

We talked for a while about the move and how they were settling into Atlanta life. Then she surprised me. “How are things between you and that handsome quarterback going?”

The fight between Brody and Colin had brought my relationship with Brody into the news. I’d wondered if it had made its way to Atlanta. “Um . . . we’re not . . . ”

“Oh. I’m sorry, honey. I just thought . . . well, I saw some pictures of the two of you, and the way you looked at him . . . I just thought maybe you had found someone.”

“The way I looked at him?”

“You looked happy. I thought I saw the way you looked at Drew in your eyes. I was hopeful.”

I didn’t know what to say. “It didn’t work out.”

She was quiet for a long time. I thought maybe we’d been disconnected. “Mrs. Martin? Jana?”

“I’m here.”

“Oh. I thought I lost you for a minute.”

“Sweetheart, I could be totally out of line, but I’m going to say this anyway. Do you remember a few weeks before the draft when you broke up with Drew? Because you wanted him to be able to focus on school and football, and he didn’t want to leave you behind?”

“Yes.”

“You cared about him so much, you wanted him to succeed and be happy, even if it meant you didn’t get to be with him.”

“I remember. I told him I didn’t want to go out with him anymore. He was pissed for about ten minutes, then stormed back in, realizing what I was doing. He could always see right through me.”

“Well, he felt the same way about you, you know.”

“I know.” There had never been any doubt in my mind that Drew loved me.

“But do you understand what I’m saying? Drew would want you to meet someone. He would want you to move on. Be happy. Fall in love. Have a family someday.”

“Of course he would. I just haven’t met anyone who could replace Drew.”

“That’s what I worry about, Delilah. No one has to replace Drew. He’ll always have a place in your heart. But you can love two men at the same time. You just love them differently.”

It wasn’t lost on me that Brody had basically said the same thing.

“Thanks, Jana.”

“Don’t be afraid to love again, dear.”

I spent a long time that afternoon sitting beside Drew’s grave. Unlike other times I came to visit, my time wasn’t spent crying. Instead, I thought about what Jana had said. Was I afraid to love again? Light snow started falling before I left. Unlike most New Yorkers, I loved the winter. Hot chocolate, bright lights, warm sweaters, snow, and football.

I leaned my head back, opened my mouth, and stretched my arms wide to catch the flakes as they came down. After a few minutes, I wished Drew a Happy Birthday and headed back to my car. Reaching the sidewalk, a hundred feet from the warm confines of my Jetta, I slipped on that pretty white snow I’d just been enjoying. I wiped out, landing on my ass with both feet up in the air. For some reason, I went hysterical laughing. An elderly man walking by with his wife stopped to help me up, but I waved them off, unable to speak through my fit of laughter.

I sat there alone on the sidewalk, the snow frosting my hair white, and cackled until my laugh turned into a cry. The cry turned into a sob before I finally got up. My teeth were chattering, my lips were swollen from the bite of winter, and my body trembled. I was a mess . . . but for some reason, everything seemed to be clear all of a sudden. It wasn’t that I was afraid to fall in love. I was pretty sure I had done that already. I was afraid that if something happened again, I wouldn’t be able to get back up.