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I tell myself that I’m fine with that.

•••

It takes twodays after the disastrous day in court for Vera and Nate to show up to my apartment and drag me outside of it, telling me that forty-eight hours without leaving is serial killer behavior. I didn’t exactly come willingly to my mother’s house for dinner, where we’ve all been invited; I fought them both through getting dressed and brushing my hair and even when they were shoving me out the door—but I’m here now, sulking in a corner and nursing a glass of wine while my parents and their spouses and my friends all laugh and work themselves into a good buzz.

“Dani!” my dad calls from his place on the couch. “Stop hiding and come talk to us.”

“Vera was just going to tell us about how big of a crush she has on me,” Nate laughs before taking a swig of his beer.

Vera lets out a snort that is much louder than normal; I assume the glass of wine she’s holding isn’t her first. “In your dreams.”

“Only thebestdreams,” Nate coos.

“I think the two of you would make the sweetest couple,” my mom sighs, her eyes noticeably bleary even from my place across the room. Iknowthe glass inherhand is at least her third. “Bill, don’t you think they would make the sweetest couple?”

My stepfather glances away from the television screen, where he’s been scrolling to find the soccer game he’s been going on and on about, giving my friends a confused expression. “I thought they were already together?”

“Natewishes,” Vera snorts.

Nate gives her a dreamy sort of smile that only comes from him being very tipsy. “With all three from the genie, babe.”

My stepmother, Patty, touches my arm, making me jolt. “You need a refill, honey?”

Normally I would say no; two glasses is my limit on a typical weeknight—but I’ve been throwing myself at Bianca’s case so hard that I won’t think about Ezra and all the uncertainty surrounding our fight. The idea of thinking about absolutely nothing tonight is incredibly appealing.

“Sure,” I tell her, holding out my glass so she can pour more wine into it. “Why not?”

“You look tired, dear,” Patty tuts. “Are you getting enough sleep?”

“Knowing her,” Nate calls, “she isn’t gettinganysleep. She’s probably too busy with—”

“Nate,” Vera hisses.

He has the good grace to look sheepish. “Work,” he says. “I was going to say work.”

We both know it’s a lie, and I do my best to keep my expression neutral. I haven’t told either of them about what happened with Ezra. Yes, they’ve heard about what went down in court, and yes, they’ve made their own assumptions, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to tell them about the things I said to him after. I’m not even sure why. Am I embarrassed? That seems ridiculous,since all the things I’d said felt justified at the time, but the more time that passes…the more my doubt grows.

“We should play charades,” my mother suggests loudly.

My dad groans. “You’re terrible at charades. Especially when you’re drunk.”

“I am not drunk!” she protests, even though the flush of her cheeks says otherwise. “Dani!” She looks at me expectantly. “Do you want to play?”

I’ve already gulped down a third of my new glass, my head swimming a little. “I actually think I need some air,” I say. “You guys start without me.”

Vera perks up. “Want me to come with?”

“No, no.” I shake my head. “I’ll just be a minute.”

It’s warmer outside on the deck, the summer air stifling and making my already warm cheeks even more heated. Still, goose bumps break out over my skin, but I suspect that’s more to do with my inner turmoil than the weather. I sink into one of the deck chairs morosely, blinking out over the backyard and trying not to think about the last time I was out here. What that Fourth of July party set in motion.

What’s worse than the doubt is the overwhelming feeling of something beingmissing. I’d gotten so used to seeing Ezra every day, to talking to him throughout, that now that he’s gone, it feels like there is a hole in my life. A big, stupid, blond-haired hole.

Imisshim, and that’s the most agonizing part of all this. That the asshole I never should have come to care for could make me miss him this badly.

It’s not a good idea, I’m well aware of that fact as I place my glass on a side table and pull my phone out of my pocket; I’m threedrinks in and feeling sorry for myself, and that’s a recipe for disaster. But it doesn’t stop me from finding our message thread. From hovering over his last text while something squeezes tightly in my chest.

Ezra:Don’t miss me too badly today.