A/N: Ah! Finally! I hope you guys enjoy!!

Day 63

"He was so dramatic," I told Rory as I folded a pair of jeans and plopped them down into the suitcase. I was bored before work, and packing up some of my stuff for school was the only thing I could seem to do around here that didn't remind me of Fletcher.

Rory scoffed. "Jamie. He told you he loved you and you shoved it back in his face. He has a right to be upset."

"'But you just ruined me.' Like, who says that?"

"Someone who just got their heart broken."

"Now you're being dramatic," I retorted.

"No, I'm being honest," she insisted. "Look. I'm going to be honest with you right now because clearly you need to hear it. You fucked up, Jamie. It's one thing to turn a guy down. It's another thing to tell them they aren't even allowed to say it."

I hesitated before giving in, "Alright, you're right. I could've been nicer about it. It's just that when I first met Fletcher, I would've never imagined him being this emotional. I just freaked out."

"Why?" she said. "You told me you love him, so what's the big deal."

"Because, it's different when you tell the actual person that you love them. Then it all becomes real and serious and...I just didn't think either of us would actually say it to each other. I mean I'm leaving in eight days. It's a little late for 'I love you.'"

She sighed. "You're so stupid, Jamie."

I didn't respond. Here I was, packing up my suitcase, trying to get my mind off of him. Yet here I was, thinking about him, talking about him. So I said, "Can we please talk about something else? Like you. How are you?"

I could feel her rolling her eyes. But she still took the bait. "I'm alright. 18 days until I get to be discharged from this hellhole of constant therapy."

I wanted to argue that it was good for her, that it was necessary. But I knew she knew that. She probably just needed to vent. So I said, "that does sound like hell."

"Plus my roommate's a mute. So socialization is at an all time low," she complained.

"What's she there for?"

"Anxiety, I think. I don't know. She doesn't talk."

"Right," I said. "The therapy's going well though?"

"Yeah," she murmured. "It's alright. It makes me think a lot, which I guess is what it's supposed to do so..." then, of course, she switched the subject. "There's this really cute boy in one of my group therapy sessions though."

"Oh," I exclaimed, "details. Now."

"His name is Holden. He's a year older than me. He's super smart and actually really insightful about everything. And totally my type."

I laughed. "Blonde hair, blue eyes."

"You know me well." I could hear her smile through the phone.

"So what's his story?" I asked, sorting through my makeup and throwing out some of the old mascara I'd had for far too long.

"He was addicted to Oxy for around seven months," she said nonchalantly. I figured at this point she'd probably become numb to this type of information. "Overdosed two months ago. He got discharged a couple weeks ago but he still comes to therapy as an outpatient."

"So have you asked him out yet?"

She burst out laughing. "We've only talked like three times. Besides, you know I never make the first move. I let them come to me."

"Oh right," I scoffed playfully. "You're 'number one most important rule about boys.' I almost forgot."

"Hey, don't make fun of it!" she protested. "It worked for you and Fletcher, didn't it?"

"We're not talking about him anymore," I growled.

She sighed. "Alright. Well at least I tried."

Ignoring her, I continued, "Well keep me updated with this Holden boy."

"Sure. If anything ever actually happens."

"It will," I assured her. I glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table and realized I only had an hour until work and I still had to shower. "I gotta run. I have work soon."

"Of course," she said. "Have fun."

"I'll try. I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

"Sounds good," she hummed. "I love you."

"I love you too," I murmured back and couldn't help but let myself smile.

~ ~ ~

In the middle of work, my phone buzzed inside my apron. It was dead, as it almost always was in the afternoon, so Courtney and I were just sitting on the back counter, tossing a one-pound bag of coffee beans back and forth to each other.

I pulled my phone out just as Courtney tossed the bag back to me. It hit me square in the chest. "Hey!" I said, quickly throwing it back at her, hard.

"Not my fault you weren't looking," she contested and easily caught it despite my aggression. I narrowed my eyes at her as an added bonus before looking down at the text.

To: Jamie

From: John

Come over to Sweetwater as soon as you can. I need to talk to you.

"Who is it?" Courtney asked.

"John," I replied despondently. "He wants to talk."

Courtney made a face that screamed 'yikes' and I agreed with wide eyes. "Do you mind if I take my break now and head over there?"

"Yeah, whatever," she shrugged as I hopped off the counter. "Good luck."

"Thanks. I'll need it," I said as I pulled off my apron and exited Beach Brew.

When I walked next door and into Sweetwater, I immediately headed towards the front counter, expecting to see John. Instead, Justin was at the cash register, texting on his phone. As I got closer he looked up and a surprised look crossed his face.

"Hey," he said, setting his phone down. He ran a hand through his hair nervously. "What's up?"

"Not much," I replied and then glanced around to try to find John. I opened my mouth and asked, "Where's John?" just as Justin said, "How've you been?"

"Oh," I said quickly.

"Sorry," he stuttered and then we both awkwardly smiled at each other. Then he continued, "John's in the back room. Want me to get him for you?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

He nodded and then headed towards the back. I began to scan some of the clothing racks nearby when my eyes fell on one article in particular.

A yellow sundress. Without even thinking, I was reaching for it, grasping the fabric between my fingers-soft, yet sturdy. The same way it was two weeks ago when I was in here, hanging out with Fletcher. That was the night we went drunk bowling. The night I went skinny dipping for the first time. The night Dad told me Rory had tried to kill herself.

So much had changed in such little time. This dress hadn't though. It was exactly where I had left it. I didn't want to let go of it.

"Jamie," I heard John say, and I whipped around to face him as he walked towards me.

"Hi," I breathed and suddenly became a little nervous. He gestured for me to follow him and I did as we walked through the racks of clothes towards the far side where there were rows and rows of skate shoes and sandals hung on the wall. He sat down on a stool and began organizing some of the strewn about shoeboxes. Feeling uncomfortable, I took a seat on one of the nearby armchairs and waited.

Finally he said without looking at me, "Fletcher didn't come into work today."

I felt my brow furrow. What did this have to do with me? "Okay?"

Now he pierced me with a strong stare. "He never misses work."

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand what this has to do with me?"

"I know he went to see you last night" he continued. The tone of his voice said it all. This was my fault. "He's trying, Jamie."

"Look, John, with all due respect, this really isn't any of your business."

"It wasn't," he agreed. "Until my boss called me asking why Fletcher didn't come into work and wasn't answering his calls. And then when I called him, he wouldn't answer any of mine. And so someone had to come into work today on their day off." He gestured to himself.

I bit my lip. "I'm sorry. But it's not really like I can control him."

"That's where you're wrong," he said, trying to correctly fit a pair of shoes perfectly into one of the boxes. "You have quite a bit of control over him."

"I didn't ask for that," I protested. "That's not fair."

"I never said it was fair," he offered, shoving the final shoebox neatly into its place before looking me directly in the eye. "I'm just saying it's the truth."

I didn't respond and when he stood up again I followed. We began walking back towards the front counter as he said, "Look all I'm asking is just to think about making things right with him. You don't have to make it work. Just make it right."

I nodded, broadly enough so he could see it without staring directly at me. When it seemed like it was time for me to leave, he stopped me and asked, "Do you need anything while you're here."

The yellow dress came into my line of vision, drawing me in. Again, without even thinking, I walked toward it and took it off the rack. I turned to John at the register. "This."

Day 64

It was Friday the 13th. Exactly one week until I leave for college.

This didn't seem like a coincidence to me.

~ ~ ~

I stared at my many suitcases, all lined up in a neat row against one of the walls of my room. Each article of clothing was perfectly folded inside. Atop one of my suitcases lay my Pre-Law book, 400 pages of which I'd only read 50. I was tempted to pick it up again and try to continue reading it, but I knew that was just false hope. Focus was something I'd been severely lacking recently. So I went downstairs instead.

I already had my bathing suit on and so decided I might as well go tanning or swimming since it was such a nice day out. Monica was on the porch with Kim Shaw, drinking mimosas. Of course, Kim stopped me.

"Jamie!" she screeched, and I could tell this couldn't possibly have been her first drink. She got out of her lounge chair, teetering slightly and hurried over to me, embracing me in a tight hug. When she pulled back, she examined me from an arm's distance, spilling her orange juice cocktail in the process. "Well gosh darn, you just get more and more beautiful every time I see you."

I smiled politely. "Thanks, Kim."

"Come! Get a drink! Sit with us!"

"That's alright," I declined graciously. "I'm going to go sit on the beach for a little."

"Nonsense!" she insisted and nudged me towards the sliding glass door. "We must catch up! Go get some champagne and celebrate with us."

"Celebrate?" I asked, perplexed.

"This beautiful day, being alive," she grasped at straws, exasperatedly. "One doesn't always need a reason to celebrate."

I glanced over at Monica, who had been watching us from her cushioned outdoor chair. She smiled and gave me the okay by nodding her head towards the door. So I poured myself a mimosa and joined them on the porch.

"So," Kim started and I took a large gulp of my drink. Here we go. "When do you leave for school?"

"One week to the day."

"Wow," she beamed. "How amazing. You must be so excited."

I nodded and took another swig.

"You're just going to love Duke. Such a beautiful school."

"Are you still thinking of doing law?" my aunt asked. I realized we hadn't talked about school much this summer at all, other than her asking if I needed help packing or getting ready to go this past week.

"I think so," I replied. "But I don't know. There are always other options."

For a moment I couldn't believe what I had just said. For the past three years of my life I had been dead set on becoming a lawyer. The mere idea of questioning other career choices never even crossed my mind. Yet here I was, thinking about all the other possibilities the next four years had to offer me. That maybe I didn't know what I truly wanted after all. I wasn't sure if this was me losing myself, or actually finding myself.

"God, I wish I could go back to college," Kim sighed dramatically. "Best four years of my life."

"Me too," Monica agreed quietly. "I know it'll be the same for you."

I hope. I changed the subject. "So what have you been up to, Kim?"

"Oh you know," she exhaled. "Same old, same old. Thank God Dan got back with Avery. He's always so much nicer to be around when he's dating her."

"Well, Avery's great," I agreed.

Kim smiled brightly. "And how about you? I hear that you and Fletcher have gotten quite close."

The corners of my lips turned down and I set my drink down, suddenly not thirsty in the slightest. "We're just good friends."

She raised her eyebrows and gave me a look, but must've caught on to my immediate desire to change the subject. Surprisingly, she downed the last bit of her mimosa and stood. "Well, I've been here far too long and have had one too many of these," she chuckled, shaking her empty glass carelessly. "So I should get going."

"Are you sure?" Monica stood as well, setting down her own glass on one of the small outdoor tables next to her chair.

"Of course," Kim wiggled her fingers at her. Then she smiled delightedly at me. "Besides, I'm sure you want to spend as much time with you beautiful niece as you can before she goes." She came over to me and again took me in a large hug. When she pulled away, she smiled at both Monica and I. "Family is the most important thing in this world."

Monica smiled half-heartedly at me. Her eyes seemed desolate.

Then chipper Kim appeared again as she kept hugging and saying goodbye to both of us over and over again. Finally, she disappeared down the porch steps and onto the sand, trekking south along to beach to her house just next door.

"She's sweet," I said, breaking the silence. Monica and I were sitting down again, watching Kim teeter through the sand until she disappeared into her house.

My aunt nodded, finishing off her mimosa. She stood and told me she'd be right back as she ducked inside.

A breeze tossed my hair behind me and I felt the sticky salt begin to seep into my pores. The waves were fairly large today. It would be a good day to surf. I bet that's what Fletcher was doing right now. The south end was his favorite part of the beach to surf. He always said the waves were larger and more consistent down here. What's funny is that for the past few years he actually always looked for my aunt and uncle's house to know that he was at his favorite part of the beach. A big white house with navy blue and dark brown detail. To him, my aunt and uncle's house was kind of home to him too. It was the sign that told him he was exactly where he wanted to be.

I never really believed in fate. But that, that couldn't just be a coincidence. He could've picked any other house in this general area. But he picked my family's house. He'd been picking it for years.

Monica reappeared with an entire fresh bottle of champagne. She popped the cork off, letting out a relieved sigh at the same time. Without words, she took hold of my glass and filled it up with the sparkling wine-no orange juice this time. Then she did the same with hers, adding even more as the bubbles fizzed away.

At first I thought it was best not to ask, but then I realized we were past that. I didn't know too much about my aunt, but if there was one thing I did know, it's that she wanted more than anything to have a relationship with me.

"Everything okay?" I said, setting down my full glass on the table. She didn't look at me at first. She just took two large sips of the champagne. I'm sure she felt my eyes refusing to look away from her face, so she finally did glance over at me. I was a little taken aback at how ashamed she looked.

"Yes, of course," she forced out, turning away again.

"That's a lot of champagne for one in the afternoon," I commented.

"Well like Kim said, we have a lot to celebrate," she defended, gulping down even more. Shit.

"Monica," I murmured disapprovingly. The tone of my voice made her head snap to look at me. Now she looked concerned at my concern. I raised my eyebrows and she knew I was waiting for her to talk.

Pursing her lips, she set down her now almost empty champagne glass. "I've been looking at some other houses."

"What?" I asked. "But you love this house. This house is..." I tried to find the right words, and then it hit me. Lowering my voice, I questioned, "Are you having financial problems?"

She exhaled sharply through her nose like she was suppressing a humorless laugh. "Try marital problems."

When she picked up her champagne glass again, I didn't stop her. In fact, I now took a sip of my own. "Oh...so what does that mean? You're going to move out?"

"I don't know," she said, staring out at the water. "Maybe."

"But it's what you want, right?"

She smiled but her brows were crinkled. "I think so."

I wasn't quite sure what else to say, so I stared out at the ocean too, wondering if maybe I gazed at the same thing she was looking at, I could understand what she was thinking.

"We've been in therapy for years," she said finally. "I keep thinking he's going to change. That I'm going to change. But he's not the kind of husband I need. And I don't think I'm the kind of woman he needs. Therapy isn't going to change that."

I wanted so badly to reach out and hug her, or at least grab her hand. Something. But I felt paralyzed-weirdly afraid. I had no idea what she was feeling. As always, it was hard to read her. I thought I'd gotten pretty good at it, but now I felt clueless as ever.

"Marriage is supposed to be hard," she said finally, slightly nodding her head. "But love should never be this hard."

My breath caught in my throat and without thinking I reached out and grabbed her hand. She seemed shocked at first and jumped upon the impact, but she slowly relaxed back into her chair. Then she smiled softly at me and squeezed my hand slightly within hers. It was such a small compression that I could've missed it. I didn't though. No chance in hell.