I called in sick to my job search. Which was ridiculous because I didn't actually have a job, but I told Sophie I wasn't feeling well and needed a day to myself. She saw right through me, obviously, but she let me have it.
I spent the morning doing what I always did when I needed to think—I baked. My kitchen was barely big enough for one person, but I managed to make chocolate chip cookies, banana bread, and a lemon cake that didn't quite rise properly. By noon, my apartment smelled like a bakery and I had enough baked goods to feed a small army.
My phone sat on the counter, the invitation pulled up on the screen. I kept glancing at it between measuring cups and mixing bowls, like it might spontaneously combust if I looked away too long.
You are cordially invited...
The words blurred together after a while. I tried to imagine Becca planning this wedding, picking out flowers and cake flavors and debating whether to have the ceremony on the beach or in town. I tried to picture her happy, in love with this Daniel person I'd never met.
But all I could see was us at nineteen, drunk on cheap wine, making elaborate plans for our future weddings.
"You'll be my maid of honor, obviously," Becca had said, sprawled on the lighthouse floor while stars wheeled overhead. "And we'll have it right here on the beach. I want to get married at sunset so the light is perfect."
"What if it rains?" I'd asked, practical even then.
"Then we'll get married in the rain! It'll be romantic. Lucas can walk me down the aisle since Dad will probably cry too much."
I'd felt my chest tighten at the mention of Lucas's name. "What if you want to marry someone from far away? Someone who doesn't get the whole Cove Harbor thing?"
"Then I won't marry them," she'd said simply. "Anyone I marry has to love this place as much as I do. It has to be someone who understands that these summers are everything."
But somewhere along the way, that had changed. Becca had found someone new, someone who came after. After me. After the summers. After everything fell apart.
And she wanted me at the wedding anyway.
I was pulling the lemon cake out of the oven when someone knocked on my door. I wasn't expecting anyone, and for a wild second I thought maybe it was Becca, that she'd somehow known I was spiraling and had come to explain everything.
But it was Marcus, Sophie's boyfriend, holding a bag from my favorite deli.
"Sophie sent me," he said, holding up the bag like a peace offering. "She said you'd be stress-baking and probably hadn't eaten real food."
I stepped aside to let him in. Marcus had been part of the Cove Harbor crew too, though he'd only come the last three summers. He was good for Sophie in all the ways that mattered—stable, kind, endlessly patient with her chaos. They'd gotten engaged last year, and I'd been genuinely happy for them even though it made me feel hollow inside.
"She's not wrong," I admitted, gesturing to the counter full of baked goods. "Want a cookie?"
"Obviously." He grabbed three, then settled himself at my tiny kitchen table. "So. The wedding."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Too bad. Sophie's worried about you."
I sighed, pulling out the sandwiches he'd brought. Pastrami on rye, my favorite. "I'm fine."
"You're stress-baking on a Wednesday morning. You're the opposite of fine." He studied me with those steady brown eyes that made him impossible to lie to. "What happened between you and Becca? For real?"
"I don't know," I said honestly. "One day everything was perfect, and the next day she was telling me to leave and never come back. She wouldn't explain. Wouldn't return my calls. Just... cut me out completely."
"And Lucas?"
I focused very hard on unwrapping my sandwich. "What about him?"
"Come on, Harry. I'm not blind. Everyone knew you two were—whatever you were. Then suddenly that last summer you both left early, separately, and neither of you would talk about it."
"There's nothing to talk about. We were friends. It ended. People grow apart."
Marcus made a skeptical noise. "Right. That's why you've been miserable for three years and won't date anyone seriously."
"I date!"
"You go on exactly three dates with guys and then find reasons why it won't work. Sophie keeps a tally."
"That's—" I stopped. "Okay, that's probably true. But that has nothing to do with Lucas."
"Doesn't it?"
I took a vicious bite of sandwich instead of answering. The truth was, Marcus was right. Every guy I'd dated had been measured against Lucas and found wanting. It wasn't fair to them, but I couldn't help it. No one else made me laugh the way he did. No one else could sit in comfortable silence with me for hours. No one else felt like home.
"What if I go and it's awful?" I said finally. "What if Becca doesn't actually want me there and this invitation was just some obligation thing? What if Lucas—" I stopped, unable to finish the thought.
"What if Lucas what?"
"What if he's moved on completely? What if he has a girlfriend or a fiancée or—god, what if he's married?"
"Then you'll deal with it," Marcus said simply. "Look, I can't tell you what to do. But I know you, Harry. You're going to regret it if you don't go. You're going to spend the rest of your life wondering what would have happened if you'd been brave enough."
"When did you get so wise?"
"I'm always wise. You just don't usually listen." He stood up, brushing crumbs off his shirt. "Sophie and I are going, obviously. If you decide to come, you won't be alone. We've got your back."
After he left, I sat at my table for a long time, staring at the invitation on my phone.
It would mean everything if you came.
That's what Becca had said, according to Sophie. And despite everything—despite the three years of silence and hurt and confusion—I wanted to believe her. Wanted to believe that our friendship had meant something, that those summers hadn't just been some beautiful dream I'd imagined.
I opened my laptop and pulled up job applications again. I had interviews lined up for next week, promising opportunities at companies that would look good on a resume. The kind of jobs that would convince my parents I was finally getting my life together.
But none of them excited me. None of them made me feel anything except vaguely anxious and tired.
I thought about what Lucas had said that last night, about hiding in Maine instead of facing real life. Maybe he'd been right. Maybe I had been hiding, using those perfect summers as an excuse not to figure out what I actually wanted.
Or maybe—maybe Maine had been the only place I'd ever been brave enough to be myself.
I pulled up my email and started typing before I could talk myself out of it.
Dear Becca,
I got your invitation. I wasn't sure I was going to come, but...
I stopped, deleted it, started over.
Becca,
It's been three years. Three years of silence and confusion and hurt. I don't know what happened that last summer. I don't know why you told me to leave or why you cut me out of your life so completely. But I do know that you were my best friend for seven years, and that has to count for something.
So yes. I'll come to your wedding. Not because I'm over it, whatever "it" is. And not because I've forgiven you, because I don't even know what I'm supposed to be forgiving you for.
I'm coming because I need answers. Because I deserve to know what happened. And because despite everything, I miss you.
See you in June.
-Harry
I hit send before I could overthink it. My heart was racing, and I felt simultaneously brave and terrified.
Then I opened a new email and started writing to the companies I'd been interviewing with, the ones with start dates in late June.
I apologize, but I need to withdraw my application. A family matter has come up...
It was a lie, but also not. Becca's family had been my family once. The people in Cove Harbor had been more home to me than anywhere else. If that wasn't family, I didn't know what was.
Within an hour, I'd canceled all my interviews. Bought a bus ticket to Maine for June 13th, a week before the wedding. Texted Sophie that I was coming.
Her response was immediate: THANK GOD. I'll let everyone know. This is going to be amazing, H. I promise.
I wanted to believe her. Wanted to think that going back to Cove Harbor would give me the closure I needed, the answers I'd been craving for three years.
But a small, treacherous part of me knew the truth.
I wasn't going back for closure.
I was going back because I'd never stopped hoping.
Hoping that whatever broke three years ago could be fixed. That Becca would explain and I'd understand. That Lucas would look at me the way he used to, like I was something precious and rare.
That maybe, just maybe, this summer could be different.
The invitation sat on my counter, cream-colored and innocent-looking. Three weeks until I'd see them all again. Three weeks until I'd walk into the Morgan house and face everything I'd been running from.
Three weeks to prepare for my heart to break all over again.
I picked up the lemon cake that hadn't risen properly and cut myself a large slice. It tasted perfect despite its appearance—sweet and tart and exactly what I needed.
Some things, I thought, were still good even when they didn't turn out the way you planned.
I could only hope the same would be true for this summer.
