Page 78 of Caden & Theo

He chuckles under his breath. “What about your sister?”

“She invited me out this summer. Wants me to spend some time with Connor.”

He bobs his head in understanding. “Is he still struggling?”

“Yeah. The divorce hit him hard. She says he’s been acting out. I think she’s hoping Uncle Theo can swoop in and work some magic.”

“Are you going?”

“I think so. It’s hard to say no to him. Plus, it’s been a while since I got away for longer than a weekend.”

Miles nods again. No judgment. Just quiet understanding.

“Town’s been weird lately,” I add. “Gearing up for this reunion has everyone acting like it’s senior year all over again.”

“It’s bad, right?”

“Yup. Let’s just say I’ve heard more fake-nice this week than I have in the past five years combined.”

He huffs. “People think they can outgrow high school. Most of the time, they’re wrong.”

“Tell me about it.”

He finishes off the rest of his chicken, wipes his hands on a napkin, and leans back in the chair with another sigh. “I’m guessing you’ll see him this weekend. Caden, I mean.”

I don’t answer right away. I just stare at the house next door, which was once full of life and laughter and love with Caden at the heart of it. Now it belongs to a young white couple expecting their first kid. They’re friendly enough—always waving from the porch, stopping to chat about renovations or the weather—but it still feels strange, almost disorienting, to know that every echo of the North family has been replaced by someone else’s story.

“Maybe. I want to.”

Miles doesn’t press. He just nods, grabs another hush puppy, and settles into the silence with me like he’s got all the time in the world. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what makes him a goodfriend. Not the big speeches. Not the reassurances. Just the quiet company of someone who’s still here.

The cicadas have joined the evening chorus, buzzing from somewhere deep in the trees behind the house. The porch light above us flickers once, like even it’s curious about what comes next.

I look out over the yard, watching the porch light spill across the overgrown grass. “You know what’s weird?” I ask, breaking the silence, my mind whirring with all things Caden.

“What?”

“I still sometimes expect to look out that window and see Caden’s parents walking up the drive, arms full of takeout and wine, like nothing happened. Like it’s just any old night.”

Miles doesn’t respond right away. He finally says, “Have you ever thought about just calling him up and talking to him?”

I chew the inside of my cheek. “All the time. And then I think about what I’d even say.”

“Do you know what you’re going to do if he shows?”

“No clue,” I answer. “Somehow I don’t think ‘Hi, sorry I destroyed your life. Want some punch and to sign the alumni guestbook?’ is going to cut it.”

“Fuck, man,” Miles says, shaking his head. “You didn’t destroy anything. It was an accident.”

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “But it wasn’t just anyone behind the wheel, was it?”

He opens his mouth to respond, then closes it again. There’s nothing he can say that’ll change what I still carry.

“Anyway,” I mutter, pushing up from the chair and heading toward the railing, “he probably won’t even come to the actual reunion. Maybe the fundraiser, maybe a photo op, but that’s it.”

Miles stretches, his beer dangling from his fingers. “I don’t know. If he RSVP’d, he’s probably at least curious.”

“Maybe.”