Chris wanted to keep the original floor plan after the remodel, so even though a lot of the fixtures are new, it doesn’t help that every room in this house is secluded and closed off from every other room. I wanted an open floor plan. Sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe in this house with all these walls.

I certainly can’t eavesdrop on Jenny and Clara’s conversation like I’d like to.

Chris sets the pan of burgers on the stove. “Gotta grab the rest, and then it’ll be ready. Is Clara almost home?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Ask Jenny.”

Chris raises his eyebrows, sensing my jealousy. He exits the kitchen, and the door continues to swing. Jonah stops it with his foot and then goes back to cutting up the vegetables.

Even though the four of us used to be best friends, sometimes Jonah seems like a stranger to me. He looks mostly the same, but there are subtle differences. When we were teens, his hair was longer. So long he’d sometimes pull it back in a ponytail. It’s short now and a richer brown. He lost some of the honey-colored streaks that would show up by the end of every summer, but the darker color just brings out the blue in his eyes even more. His eyes have always been kind, even when he was angry. The only time you could tell he was upset was when his angular jawline would tense.

Chris is his opposite. He has blond hair and emerald eyes and a jawline he doesn’t keep hidden behind stubble. Chris’s job requires him to be clean cut, so his smooth skin makes him appear years younger than he actually is. And he has this adorable dimple that appears in the center of his chin when he smiles. I love it when he smiles, even after all these years of marriage.

When I compare the two of them, it’s hard to believe Jonah and Chris are both thirty-five. Chris still has a baby face and could pass for being in his twenties. Jonah looks all of thirty-five and seems to have grown several inches, even since high school.

It makes me wonder how much different I look now than I did as a teenager. I’d like to think I still appear as youthful as Chris, but I certainly feel a lot older than thirty-three.

Well. Thirty-four, now.

Jonah brushes past me to grab a plate from the cabinet. He glances at me when he does and holds his stare. I can tell by the look on his face he has something to say, but he probably won’t say it because he’s always inside his head. He thinks more than he speaks.

“What?” I stare back at him—waiting for a response.

He shakes his head and turns around. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“You can’t look at me like that and not tell me what you were about to say.”

He sighs, his back still to me as he grabs the head of lettuce and sticks the knife into it. “It’s your birthday. I don’t want to bring it up on your birthday.”

“Too late for that.”

He faces me again with a hesitant look in his eye, but he concedes and tells me his thoughts. “You’ve barely spoken to me since I moved back.”

Wow. He cuts right to the chase. I can feel my chest and neck heat from the embarrassment of being called out. I clear my throat. “I’m speaking to you now.”

Jonah folds his lips together, like he’s trying to remain patient with me. “It’s different. Things feel different.” His words tumble around in the kitchen, and I want to dodge them, but the kitchen is too damn small.

“Different from what?”

He wipes his hands on a dish towel. “From how it used to be. Before I left. We used to talk all the time.”

I almost scoff at that ridiculous comment. Of course things are different. We’re adults now, with lives, and children, and responsibilities. We can’t just go back to the carefree friendships we all had back then. “It’s been over seventeen years. Did you think you could show back up and the four of us would fall right back into place?”

He shrugs. “Things fell back into place with me and Chris. And me and Jenny. Just not with me and you.”

I waver between wanting to duck out of the kitchen and yelling all the things I’ve been wanting to yell at him since he left in such a selfish way.

I take a sip of my wine to stall my response. He’s staring at me with eyes full of disappointment as I formulate a reply. Or maybe he’s staring at me with contempt. Whatever he’s feeling, it’s the same look he gave me seconds before he walked away all those years ago.

And just like back then, I don’t know if his disappointment is directed inward or outward.

He sighs. I can feel the weight of all his unpackaged thoughts.

“I’m sorry I left the way I did. But you can’t stay mad at me forever, Morgan.” His words come out quietly, like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear our conversation. Then he walks out of the kitchen and ends it.

It isn’t until this moment that I’m reminded of the heaviness I used to feel when he was around. Sharing the same air with him sometimes felt stifling back then, like he was selfishly taking more of it than he needed and I was hardly left with any air at all.

That same stifling feeling is back again, surrounding me in my own kitchen.

Even though he’s no longer in the kitchen and the door is swinging back and forth, I can still feel the heaviness bearing down on my chest.

As soon as I stop the swinging kitchen door with my foot, Jenny pushes it back open. The conversation I refused to partake in with Jonah gets shoved to the back of my mind for me to stew over later, because now I need to know everything Clara said to my sister.

“It was nothing,” Jenny says flippantly. “She gave some guy from her school a ride, and he started following her on Instagram. She wasn’t sure if he was flirting with her.”

“What guy?”

Jenny shrugs. “Morris? Miller? I can’t remember. His last name is Adams.”

Chris is in the kitchen now, setting another pan on the stove. “Miller Adams? Why are we talking about Miller Adams?”

“You know him?” I ask.

Chris shoots me a look that lets me know I should know exactly who Miller Adams is, but the name rings no bells. “He’s Hank’s boy.”

“Hank? There are still people named Hank in this world?”

Chris rolls his eyes. “Morgan, come on. Hank Adams? We went to school with him.”

“I vaguely remember that name.”

Chris shakes his head. “He’s the kid who used to sell me weed. Ended up dropping out junior year. Got arrested for stealing the science teacher’s car. And a load of other shit. Pretty sure he’s been in jail a few years now.” Chris gives his attention to Jenny. “Too many DUIs or something. Why are we talking about his son? Clara isn’t dating him, is she?”

Jenny grabs the pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator and closes the door with her hip. “No. We’re talking about a celebrity named Miller Adams. You’re talking about someone local. Different people.”

Chris blows out a rush of air. “Thank God. That’s the last family she needs to be involved with.”

Anything involving his daughter and a boy is not an easy subject with Chris. He takes the tea from Jenny and leaves the kitchen to go place it on the dining room table.

I laugh once I know Chris is out of earshot. “A celebrity?”

Jenny shrugs. “I don’t want to get her in trouble.”