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“More than you’ll know,” Charlie said. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to invite you in.”

“Nor do I deserve to be. But guess what?” Taryn grinned. The first time in a while. God, Charlie had missed that smile. It was honestly everything.

“You’re gonna keep showing up.”

“Nailed it. ’Night, Charlie.”

“Good night, Taryn.”

Charlie’s days on campus were growing short, and realizing that there would be no more six-minute walks with Taryn tugged at her. She didn’t have the courage to leap back in, but at the same time the idea of saying good-bye to Taryn forever was enough to keep her awake at night. She needed guidance, some sort of sign to direct her onto the right path. “Any help, Mom?” she whispered into her darkened bedroom at two a.m. “Let me know where I’m supposed to be in this world, okay? Send an arrow sign. I need you.”

Though her mother couldn’t be at her graduation, it seemed the rest of the world’s population was. Charlie, in green cap and gown, sat with the rest of her classmates on one of the most monumental days of her life. She’d completed her MFA, and nothing, she could safely say, had ever been as educational…or painstaking.

“I’m too excited to breathe,” Emerson said, squeezing Charlie’s hand from the seat next to hers. Her face went serious. “No. Literally, I keep forgetting to.”

“Em, stop that. Air is required if you want to make it to that stage.”

“Finally here, fuckers,” Lawson said. “Never thought we’d all make it out alive.”

“Emerson hasn’t yet,” Charlie offered. “She’s not breathing.”

“Nothing’s ever easy with you all,” Danny said with a shake of his above-it-all head.

Quietly, Charlie reveled. As one speech moved into the next, it became more of a reality that she’d made it to the finish line of three very demanding years. Sadness settled, however, when she realized that she didn’t have a cheering section of her own. No parents or grandparents to cheer when her name was called. And that was okay. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t prepared for, but the poignancy of the moment made it all the more noticeable.

And then it was their turn. Her row, full of her friends and classmates from the creative writing trenches, walked to the stage and waited as one by one their names were called. As Charlie stood on the second stair waiting to move forward, she scanned the crowd of thousands in the arena, intent on taking in the image and memorizing the moment. There were balloons, flowers, and signs in abundance. Families sitting close together poised to support their loved ones. In the distance, a white sign pulled her focus, a giant arrow sign pointing to its owner. She smiled and then froze. She ascended to the next stair as her mind registered what she was looking at. Taryn stood in front of her chair, holding up a sign that said Proud Human with a huge downward-pointing arrow sign beneath. She ascended the final stair to the stage as it all came together.

“You sent my arrow sign, Mama,” she murmured. She looked out, and Taryn met her gaze and smiled. Taryn tossed a celebratory fist in the air, and so did the man next to her, who Charlie was now realizing was Mr. Ross…who was seated next to Mrs. Ross. Taryn’s parents jumped and waved. They’d come there for her. Her. She wasn’t alone after all.

“Charlotte Adler,” the announcer said. She beamed and, with tears in her eyes, crossed the stage, knowing that there were people in the audience sending love and support. In fact, she felt it all over. She posed with her diploma for the official photographer, returned to her seat, and let every inch of her vibrate with happiness. For once, she didn’t reel the positivity back in but let it wash over her in a warm glow. Her mom was with her today, and sending the clear-as-day sign she’d asked for. Literally.

“We did it,” Emerson said.

“We sure did,” Charlie answered. “I can hardly believe it’s real.”

Chapter Twenty-one

The arena was a madhouse when the graduation ended, and Taryn didn’t want to get in the way of Charlie’s celebration with her classmates. She’d take her parents to dinner and spend a little time with them and hope to connect with Charlie later. She’d be leaving soon. Taryn had glimpsed the boxes stacked up in her kitchen just a few nights prior.

“I know you two aren’t together, but do you think she was happy to have us here cheering for her?” her dad asked on their way to the car. “I wanted her to know she had her own cheering section up there.”

“I have a feeling she was, Dad.”

“Graduations always get me,” her mom said. “I cry, I scream, I want to pursue my doctorate every damn time. It’s a whole journey. I need a steak.”

Taryn laughed. “I know a place not far from here.”

They had a lively dinner together, and when Taryn had a spare moment from the boisterous conversation, she quietly sent a text to Charlie and prayed she’d hear back.

Congratulations, C. Like the sign says, incredibly proud of all you’ve done. Time to talk later?

To her surprise, she didn’t have to wait long for an answer.

Yes. Come over later. Let’s talk.

What? Seriously? A bolt of electricity shot through her. Taryn’s eyes went wide. Talking could go a lot of different directions, and she needed to calm down and prepare herself in case Charlie patted her on the head and told her to go kick rocks. If that was the case, she would respect Charlie’s wishes, wish her all the best, and become the best kicker of rocks there’d ever been. The thought made her want to crumple in a corner, but she’d keep that part to herself and get through whatever conversation they were primed to have.

When she arrived at the Sailor’s Sound apartment complex after hugging her parents good-bye, Charlie’s Rogue was parked in front, which meant she was inside. Taryn stood in the darkness, staring at the warm glow from behind the curtain-adorned window. This was terrifying. The stakes were high, and there was so much to lose. Taryn exhaled, attempting to slow her breathing, a relaxation exercise that had been serving her well. These were the last few moments before her and Charlie’s future would in all likelihood be decided once and for all. She hoped against all hope for the second chance she’d prayed for and prepared her brain for the opposite.