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“Nah. She’s going to be relieved to hear from you, dude.”

He’s right, so I hit send and Josh exhales and his shoulders loosen once my outbox is cleared.

“Good. Now the pharmacy.”

I find the number and call, going through the prompts until I finally speak to a person who doesn’t give me great news.

“Well?” Josh asks.

“They said the prescription is too old to refill and they’ll need to contact my doctor to get a new script.”

“Shit, well, hopefully she’ll get in touch with them quickly.”

I nod in agreement. It adds one more hurdle, but it’s a step in the right direction.

Josh reaches over and pulls me into a hug, and I don’t have it in me to resist.

“I’m not doing enough,” I mumble into his shoulder. “Not for Evan. For you. For myself.”

“You’re not going to get better overnight, but I’m going to stay and help you for a few days, okay? At least until I know you’re taking care of yourself.”

I nod and after Josh finally lets go of me, I pick up my phone and look at Evan’s message again.

“You going to answer him?” Josh asks.

“Not yet.” I swallow. “When I answer him, I want to tell him the truth. All of it. I can’t do that until I’ve at least talked to Dr. Patel. I don’t want to give either of us false hope.”

Josh nods. “Then let’s go shave that fucking beard.”

CHAPTER 32

Evan

Being back in Bloomington without plans to see Marcus feels excruciating.

On the drive home from the airport, we passed the exit for High Top and my chest squeezed. Four years ago, I walked into that bar with Derek and saw a guy in the corner who looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. I had no idea I’d still be thinking about him all these years later.

Then we drove past the turnoff for the hotel from our second year, and I almost broke. Every time I saw a black Jeep, my heart stopped. One pulled up next to us at a stoplight, and I craned my neck to look, holding my breath. It was just a teenager with his friends, but for those three seconds, I couldn’t breathe.

In Seattle, missing him was something I could almost live around because he was never there. But Bloomington turned into our place. It’s only been a few years, but he’s in every parking lot and every stoplight, and the worst part is, he might actually be here.

And I can’t do a single thing about it.

Josh texted me about a week after I called him in September and said: “He’s getting help. He asked me to let him be the one to tell you the rest. I’m sorry, man, but he’s going to be okay.”

I read it so many times the words stopped looking like words. I felt nothing but relief for about a day. Then the silence kept going. September turned into October, October into November, and my phone never once lit up with his name.

He’s getting better, and he still hasn’t reached for me. I don’t know what to do with that, except wonder if getting “better” means getting over me.

Now, I’m standing in the kitchen watching my mom pull a turkey out of the oven, the smell of roasted meat and herbs filling the air, and all I can think about is how different this feels from the last few years. How all the anticipation and excitement are gone. This year there will be no stolen glances at my phone, no secret plans, no hotel room waiting. Just this. Just the family I claim to love and miss so much—and I do—except right now, there’s only one person I want to see, and he’s all I can think about.

“How are you doing?” Mom asks, offering me a small smile.

“I’m fine.”

She sets down the carving knife and looks at me properly. “Don’t lie to me. Are you missing Marcus? Have you still not heard from him?”

We had a big talk in Seattle about him after everyone went to bed. I left out some details, but I gave her the gist.