Josh heads off for college tomorrow, so he invited the whole gang over to his cabin. We’re all sitting around roasting marshmallows—Steph and all your friends, even Tamara. Shocker, right? Tim and Tamara are together, like, together-together. She’s a lot nicer now. And Raffa’s here too. She’s pressed up beside me on the low wood stump. Her skinny knees poking in the air. Laughing.
We’ve been telling stories about you. Funny things you did. Sweet stuff you said to us. Raffa is turning her marshmallow stick slowly.
“That’s got to be just about the most perfect marshmallow,” I say.
“Chris taught me how to roast them.”
“No way. When?” I’m asking because I taught you how to roast a marshmallow, out here, when we camped across the lake. We could have stayed at Josh’s cabin that time, but I wanted to wake up with you in the morning in a tent with the cold fresh morning air.
“May? He made Mom get the fireplace cleaned out and then we went to the woods and found some sticks. He cut the ends into these little points and we roasted marshmallows in the house.” She glances at me, gives me a shy smile. “He told me you showed him how.”
I laugh. But it hurts my chest. Maybe one day it won’t hurt. That’s what I’m hoping for.