Riley is back to avoiding me. We were making progress, slowly rebuilding our bond and learning about each other’s past year. But all of a sudden it’s like a switch has been flipped, and she’s back to shutting me out. Every single one of my calls and texts have gone unanswered. She’s busy, I tell myself. We’re not kids anymore. We both have responsibilities. But I know these are just excuses, lies I tell myself late at night to dull the ache, to fill the void that only she could satisfy.

On Easter Sunday I come home to visit my mom. And while I am excited to see my mom and meet her new boyfriend, I’m even more excited to see Riley. I know she’ll be home sooner or later, because there’s no way she’d miss celebrating a holiday with her parents or little sister.

A little after two o’clock, I get my wish. From the screened-in front porch of my mom’s house, I watch from behind the pillar as Riley’s long legs emerge from the passenger seat of the sedan that just pulled into her family’s driveway. Thank God, I whisper, thankful to even catch a glimpse of her beautiful face. But what I’m not quite expecting is Bill to be with her.

I shift from foot to foot and narrow my gaze as my eyes drag over the shiny, black Mercedes-Benz. An S-Class, no less. My stare turns even harder as he moves around the front of the car and loops his hand with Riley’s. He wears a tailored peacoat and Burberry scarf, a look that clearly says I have money.

I bet Riley’s dad loves him.

“Jesse.” My mom bangs the screen door open as she comes onto the porch. “Lunch is ready.”

I wince. Shit.

Riley stops walking, and Bill pauses, too, resting a hand on her lower back. I shuffle from behind the post so they can see me, and so that I don’t look like the creeper that I really am.

I raise my hand in greeting, just as Mikayla, Riley’s little sister, rushes through the front door. She’s humming a tune that sounds an awful lot like “Here Comes the Bride.” She wraps her arms around Riley’s waist. “Ry, Ry!” Mikayla’s high-pitched squeal carries through the air. “Let me see the ring!”

Those seemingly innocent words gut me, and I grasp onto the post for support. It’s like I’ve been kicked in the nuts and stomach at the same time. She’s engaged.

I stare a hole through her, willing her to look at me, to prove that what I heard is true.

Finally, her wide, sad eyes latch onto mine. I wish things were different, they say, but I shake my head, and I’m the first to look away, because things are not different. She engaged. She’s moved on. She’s promised her life to another man.

And in that moment, I know I’ve lost her for good.

* * *

James, my mom’s boyfriend, seems nice enough. He’s an EMT, has never been married, and has a golden retriever named Buttons. But even though he’s nice, and my mom is happier than I’ve seen her in a long time, I’m not in the mood for chitchat.

After we eat, when I absolutely cannot stomach one more second of small talk, I open the refrigerator, grab the six-pack of beer that I brought, and dart out the back door. I climb the rickety ladder to the tree house—our tree house—and sit alone in silence and allow my thoughts to flow.

Riley’s engaged to someone. That someone isn’t me. It’s over—we’re over.

I’m not sure how long I sit there. Long enough to drink two beers before I hear Riley’s voice.

“Hey.” Although soft, her voice pierces the quiet. Fuck. Why is she here? Surely she doesn’t expect me to congratulate her?

I tip my beer bottle in way of greeting.

She sits down beside me and lifts a bottle from the pack. “Can I have one of these?”

I shrug. “Help yourself.”

She twists the cap, takes a long pull, and winces at the taste. Same old Riley.

I don’t look at her but rather keep my eyes straight ahead. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her peel the corner of the label from the bottle. She blows out a breath. “I was going to tell you.”

My eyes cut to hers and my voice sounds incredibly angry as I ask, “When?”

“Soon.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “I didn’t know how to tell you, didn’t know what to say.”

“How about, ‘Hi, Jesse, Bill asked me to marry him and I said yes.’ ” I chug the rest of my beer and crack open another one. “How long were you going to string me along? How long were you going to let me think there was still hope? That there was still a chance?”

“That’s not fair, Jes. You know that I’m with Bill.”

“Jesus Christ.” I scrub my free hand over my face. “Do you even hear yourself, Riley? A few weeks ago we almost fucked, and now…you’re…” I shake my head. “Are you happy?”

She lowers her eyes. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple.”

She pushes herself to stand, and in her haste, kicks over her bottle. Foamy liquid seeps into the wooden planks. “What do you want me to say, Jesse? He’s a good man. I can’t hurt him. He loves me.”

I stand and face her, letting my hands fall to her waist. “Do you love him?”

“Yes.” She doesn’t falter, doesn’t hesitate, and that one word slices me in two.

My fingers release their pressure and I let her go. I nod once. If she didn’t love him, I’d fight, I’d beg, I’d plead. But I can’t interfere with her happiness when I was the one who walked away. I was the one who had something to prove. I was the one who didn’t answer her calls or texts because I thought she’d be better off.

I inhale a shaky breath, as I draw on my inner courage to say the words that a good friend—a friend who truly loves her—would say. “Then, I hope you two will be very happy together.” I turn away so she can’t see my face or the tears that are forming in my eyes. “All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy, Ry.”

“Jes.” She moves behind me, rests her cheek against my back, and bands her arms around my waist. “I never meant to hurt you.”

I rest my hands on top of hers and release a shuddering breath. “I’ll be okay.”

We’re both silent as she holds me like that for a few minutes longer. I feel her shift behind me, and although it’s the faintest of whispers, I hear her voice, nonetheless. “Am I doing the right thing?”

I squeeze my eyes tight and exhale a long, slow breath. When I speak, my voice is sad and unsure. “I don’t know.”

“Me neither,” she whispers against my skin. “Me neither.”