“Are you sure you’re okay?” April asks.

I can’t decide if I want to tell her what happened last year or not. We hadn’t been close enough for me to divulge it back then. But now things are different. “Do you remember Kristi?”

“Who?”

“That girl in our program who used to party all the time?”

“You mean the one with the Kardashian butt?”

I snort. “Yeah.”

April makes a face. “Sure. You hung out with her a bit, right?”

I nod. “Last year I went out with her and another one of her friends downtown.” She’d had a lot of connections because her family had money. I’d made a decision I normally wouldn’t. Later, when I had perspective, I realized Kristi was only nice to me because I aced all the tests. The invitation was a trade of sorts; she allowed me into her circle for a night, and I’d taken on the bulk of a group project. I definitely lost out on the deal.

“I bet that was a trip.”

“She had VIP connections or whatever. Anyway, she got us into this exclusive club where all these rich people hang out. Lance was there with some of his teammates.”

“What? When did this happen? Why is this the first I’m hearing about it?”

“Because it wasn’t exactly an awesome night, and I didn’t think I’d ever run into him again, so what was the point of talking about it? Besides, it’s more embarrassing than anything.”

“Embarrassing? Why? Oh my God. Did you sleep with him? Why didn’t he recognize you? I’m so confused.”

That makes two of us. “I didn’t sleep with him, but Kristi did.”

“Ew. She’s so dirty. I hope he used a condom.”

I don’t comment, or tell her about how I told Kristi I’d been following his career since he’d been drafted and then she used that line to get his attention when he started talking to me.

“I don’t get why that’s embarrassing for you.”

I debate how much I’m willing to share. Talking about it makes it all fresh again. “He started talking to me first when we were at the bar, but after that Miller guy wasn’t interested in anyone, I guess because he had a girlfriend, Kristi decided she wanted Lance’s attention, so...”

“She jumped on him before you could.”

“Pretty much.”

I leave it at that. Not that I would’ve jumped on him anyway, or at least that’s what I tell myself now. I honestly don’t know what would’ve unfolded had I been his sole focus of interest that night.

“Did he recognize you then?”

I shake my head. “He was drunk—everyone was except for me. I was…tipsy, not drunk, though. And like I said, I was a kid when we went to school together, and it wasn’t for long, so it’s not a surprise he doesn’t remember me.”

I don’t share anything about the party my sister took me to when she was a freshman and I was still in seventh grade. Lance hadn’t recognized me then either—but what happened cemented him in my memories forever.

I also don’t tell her we exchanged phone numbers.

April and I walk together until we reach her apartment, and then I keep going to my row house a couple of blocks away. My neighbor, Mr. Goldberg, is sitting on his front porch as I climb the stairs, phone in hand texting April to let her know I’m safe.

“Out late tonight?” Mr. Goldberg asks.

“I stopped to have a bite to eat with a friend,” I reply.

“Got yourself a new boyfriend?”

I laugh. “Nope. Just April.”

“Well, that’s a relief. I’m not looking forward to the day you cancel our Wednesday tea dates.”

Mr. Goldberg lost his wife of fifty-three years almost ten months ago. When that happened, I’d started bringing over care packages once a week, which turned into Wednesday evening tea and cookies. He was a sweet man, and his loneliness made me sad sometimes. I didn’t have a boyfriend right now, but my life was still pretty full with good people and a job I loved.

“No boyfriend could get in the way of tea and cookies.”

“Ah, one day you’ll find someone better looking than me to spend time with, Miss Poppy.”

“Impossible, Mr. Goldberg.”

He smiles. “You’re good for an old ego.” He pushes out of his chair. “Well, now that you’re home safe, I can go inside and watch the news. You have a nice night, dear.”

“You too, Mr. Goldberg.”

I check my mailbox and bring in all the flyers and bills, sorting through them as I kick off my shoes. I live in the house I grew up in. When we moved out of Chicago, my parents decided to keep this place as a rental property, and when I came back years later, they gave me the keys with the understanding that I would pay the balance of the mortgage. It’s worked out well so far.

I drop most of the flyers in the recycle bin and toss the rest on the kitchen table. I’ll go through it tomorrow, when I’m not so tired and in need of my bed.

I change into my sleep shirt and brush my teeth. As I lie down, I try to think about anything but Lance. It’s impossible. He’s dominated everything every single time he’s come in to my life, even if he doesn’t know it.

I try to go all the way back to the beginning, when he was a boy in grade school and there was still some innocence clinging to all of us, but I can’t get past the night at the bar.