Chapter 2

I met Ryan for the first time at the freshman assembly.

He walked up on stage as the class representative, wearing a white button-down and black pants, and he stood there in the September sunlight looking almost too clean to be real.

Girls whispered to each other in the audience below.

I sat in the back row and flipped through my new textbooks, keeping my head down.

My father had died young, and my mother was always sick. My older sister was away at college in another state, and our family scraped by on welfare checks and whatever help relatives could spare.

Back then, I was a transfer student with middling grades and a quiet, withdrawn personality. I wore the same faded uniform every day, washed so many times that the fabric had gone pale, and the cuffs had frayed at the edges.

Ryan and I came from completely different worlds.

That changed sophomore year when we got sorted into the same class.

I also became Stella's backdrop.

Stella was the kind of person who naturally drew every eye.

She came from money, had the kind of striking looks that turned heads, pulled straight A's, and ran the school arts council.

She went after Ryan hard. Every morning, she'd show up with coffee and a breakfast sandwich, hand him a water bottle during PE, and practically force him to be her duet partner at the spring arts showcase, insisting they sing some cheesy love ballad together.

Ryan played it cold at first, but eventually he softened.

Someone caught them holding hands on the field during the spring of senior year.

The photo ended up on Instagram with the caption: [School's power couple CONFIRMED.]

The comments section blew up. [They're literally perfect together.]

[Valedictorian dating the prettiest girl in school? What is this, a teen drama?]

[Just get married already.]

I stood in the back of the crowd and watched, too afraid to even let myself feel jealous.

We only crossed paths once, and it happened on an afternoon when I was rushing to finish classroom cleanup duty after everyone had left.

Ryan doubled back to grab his basketball.

We were the only two people in the room.

The sun was setting, and orange-red light spilled across the desks. Chalk dust danced in the beams.

He walked over to the podium and suddenly turned around. "Lily?"

I froze, and the rag I was holding dropped into the bucket.

"Don't forget to turn in the class fee tomorrow," he said.

So he knew my name after all.

"Okay," I said. My voice came out flat and awkward.

Ryan nodded and left.

I stood there and watched his figure disappear at the end of the hallway. My palms grew damp with sweat.

That was the only sentence I spoke to him during my three years of high school.

It was also the closest I ever got to him throughout my entire youth.

*****

My mother, Janet, lived at a nursing home on the outskirts of town.

She had mid-stage Alzheimer's, and her condition went up and down constantly.

On good days, she remembered I was her daughter and pestered me about getting married and having kids. On bad days, she screamed my father's name at me or just stared blankly and asked, "Who are you?"

The attending physician called me into his office. He said, "Ms. Forrest, your mother's condition is progressing faster than we expected. She's been showing violent tendencies lately, and yesterday she scratched one of the nurses."

My stomach dropped. I asked, "How bad is it?"

He replied, "Just surface wounds, but it's a dangerous sign."

The doctor adjusted his glasses and continued, "I'd recommend moving her to the secured wing."

I repeated his words slowly. "The secured wing? That means I can't just visit her whenever I want anymore?"

He explained, "Twice a week, one hour each visit, and you'll need to make appointments."

Sunlight poured through the window, and I could see elderly residents walking across the lawn outside.

I signed the consent form.

My hands were still trembling when I walked out of his office.

The caregiver, Olivia Reed, stepped out to greet me. "Ms. Forrest, you're here! Your mom's doing well today. She was asking about you earlier."

I pushed open the hospital room door.

Janet sat by the window, staring out. Her profile looked gaunt, and her temples had gone completely white.

I said, "Mom."

She turned slowly, and her eyes seemed unfocused for a moment before they found me. "Lily?"

"It's me." I set down the bag of fruit. "How are you feeling today?"

"Fine."

She grabbed my hand and lowered her voice. "Where's Ryan? Why didn't he come with you?"

"He's swamped at work."

Janet frowned. "Work? That's all he ever is." She leaned closer. "When are you two going to have a baby? You're twenty-eight already. Keep dragging your feet and all the good men will be gone."

I cut her off. "Mom, I've got it under control."

"Under control?" Her voice rose sharply, and her fingers dug into my arm. "A man like Ryan is a blessing. You better lock him down with a baby before he gets bored of you, or you'll be crying when it's too late."

Olivia rushed in and pried Janet's hand away. "Easy now, easy. You can't do that."

Janet stared at the red marks on my arm, and tears spilled down her cheeks. "Lily, I didn't mean it. I'm just scared you'll end up like me. Your father was the same way back then."

"I know." I patted her hand. "I know, Mom."

After I got her settled and asleep, I stepped out into the hallway and leaned against the wall.

I breathed deeply, and the sharp scent of disinfectant filled my nose.

My phone buzzed, and the "Cupid" group chat had blown up with messages.

Emily's latest text read: [Big news! Stella just admitted she's been in contact with Ryan this whole time. She even said when he went to fashion week overseas last year, he made a detour to see her.]

A flood of shocked reactions followed.

Someone tagged me. [Lily, you coming Saturday? It's been forever. You're a big star now.]

I typed back: [Not sure yet. Might have family stuff.]

[Come on, please? You and Ryan are the only ones from our class who made it in entertainment. I need the insider scoop!]

Another person chimed in: [Lily, don't tell me you're too famous now to hang out with us regular folks.]

[Yeah, come! Hey, do you think Ryan will show up?]

[Dream on. A-listers don't do these kinds of things.]

[You never know, though. Lily, can you get in touch with Ryan? You're classmates, right? Ask him to come for old times' sake.]

I stared at the screen. My fingers felt cold.

I finally replied: [I'll try.]

I closed my phone.

Try? I could barely work up the nerve to text him basic things like what time he'd be home or reminders to pick up his stomach medicine.

His replies were always short and polite. "Okay" or "Sure, no problem."

He sounded like a roommate I barely knew, not my husband.

Then again, that made sense. After all, my marriage to Ryan was an accident from the start.