Author's Note: Damn my Muse! She wouldn't shut up for two months, so I had to write this to get it out of my head. Disclaimer: I don't own any of these fictional characters.

She stopped correcting people more than a year ago—"It wasn't jail; it was prison," she'd reply with a contained eye roll. No one seemed to understand the difference between the two, and eventually, it wasn't worth her breath to explain the variance, so she let it slide the next thousand times.

Piper had served her time—a 15 month sentence reduced to a year and a month, which was ironic since that was approximately the length of time she'd been in a relationship with the woman who'd put her behind bars. There was nothing alluring about prison; it was as dark and terrifying as she figured it would be, but reflecting on her experience, she had to admit that it was educational.

Piper recalled the countless times her father had told her something would be educational if she could glean just one lesson from that experience. When she was offered an internship at a publishing company the summer going into her senior year at Smith, Bill Chapman told his daughter to jump at the chance to experience her education. Piper did exactly that, and from then on, she vowed to make even shitty experiences educational.

In the beginning, Piper didn't tell her fiancé that she was writing a book; in fact, she didn't realize that what she'd written in her journal over the years could possibly be turned into a memoir, until she typed the handwritten notes and was captivated by her own words. She asked her former supervisor at the publishing company (who'd since become a good friend) to read what she'd written, and Julia couldn't put it down.

"Is all of this true? I mean, the lesbian stuff?" Julia tipped back an Amstel Light.

Piper raised her eyebrows affirmatively and bit a French fry in half.

"Damn. I had no idea!" Her friend leaned forward and asked in a conspiratorial whisper, "Does Larry know?"

She swallowed the fry and wiped her mouth, looking away for a moment. "No." Piper returned her attention to her friend. "Obviously, I'll tell him if this thing goes anywhere."

Julia licked her lips. "I've been reading scripts and potential novels for nearly 20 years, Piper. This thing has legs."

"You really think so?" Piper knew her story was a good one, but prior to this meeting, she didn't have the confidence she needed to turn it into a bonafide novel.

Julia folded her arms and sat back. "Yes."

Piper spent the next month contemplating her options. She was perfectly satisfied working for Travel & Leisure (she'd worked her ass off to get promoted from production assistant to deputy editor of the domestic travel section) and could see herself in that job for the next 20 years, but the unfinished book called to her every night like a Siren. She'd kiss Larry on the cheek, roll onto her side, and think about her former life, wondering if it was fascinating enough to sell even a thousand copies. As she'd drift off to sleep, her thoughts often wandered to her time in Jakarta or Tangier or Frankfurt.

Piper never intentionally allowed herself to focus on Alex Vause for too long—that would be like staring directly at the sun. If Alex entered her mind, it was only to tell a story—a factual not emotional one. However, there were days when Piper saw something that reminded her of a dream she'd had of Alex, and she'd have to squeeze her eyes shut and banish the mental image of jet black hair and a cocky smirk.

It worked most of the time.

The times it didn't work inevitably led to Piper being in a foul mood. She couldn't so much as blink without seeing an image of Alex's salt shaker tattoo or her long neck, exposed from a fit of laughter. On those days, she needed to go for a run or even have sex with Larry to force the images out of her mind.

Writing the Alex-centric chapters of her book were difficult—Piper usually had to get herself drunk to put pen to paper. She rarely reread those pages, hoping that her first pass would be enough to appease an editor.

By the time spring rolled around, Piper had the bones of what could very well be a decent memoir. She'd asked Julia to show the rough draft to her editor the week before she had a conversation with Larry about a key component of the novel—one that had remained a secret until that moment.

Despite Larry's religious beliefs, he still insisted on hosting an Easter brunch for their friends. That Sunday morning as Piper attempted to make deviled eggs and Larry basted the two pound ham with Coca-Cola and brown sugar, Larry brought up her potential book.

"So how's the writing going?" He'd been freelancing for a men's magazine and The New York Post, always hoping to have the next great idea for a novel, but none of his ideas seemed to come to fruition.

One of the things Piper loved about her fiancé was how passionate he was about writing. She'd never been a zealous writer herself, but she was a damn good editor. Even after being together for two years, she still proofed Larry's articles, often finding egregious errors, but never giving him a hard time about them.

"I've asked Julia to show it to her boss." She peeled an egg, keeping her eyes trained on the delicate shells as they fell into the sink. "You know Roderick Whitman."

"Old man Whitman, of course." Larry smiled. "You think he'll give it the time of day?"

"I'd hope so. It's not every day that Julia brings him copy." She looked up. "Larry, there's something I should tell you in case this thing takes off."

He gave her a reticent look, and Piper wasn't sure if it was curiosity on Larry's part or astonishment that she thought her book was publishable. He hadn't once asked to read it, and she'd only shared with him that it was about her year at Litchfield.

"I've told you about why I went to prison." She rinsed her hands and wiped them with a dish towel.

He shrugged. "We do crazy shit for love. Like me baking a meaty ham for your Gentile friends."

She didn't take the time to remind her fiancé that it was his idea to make a traditional Easter brunch. "There's something I didn't tell you…Something I wasn't exactly honest about."

Larry shoved the ham into the oven, and then turned to her. "Ok…"

"It's about Alex." She laid the dish towel on the counter, smoothing the pastel cotton and avoiding eye contact.

"The guy who named you? He's an asshole." He leaned against the counter and crossed his legs at the ankles. "Is there more?"

"Alex isn't a he." Piper swallowed hard.

"What, is he a robot?" He bent his arms and moved them mechanically, saying in his best automated voice, "Hello, Piper, take this drug money for me. You will go to jail, but do it for love."

If she'd been in a joking mood, Piper would've found his antics humorous, but she knew that making light of the situation was not the best idea at that point. She kept her chin down, but raised her eyes to look at him. "Alex is a woman."

His hands slowly dropped to his sides and his smile turned upside down, divots forming on his chin. "I don't understand."

Piper sucked her lips in and waited for her fiancé to let the information sink in.

"Then who made you carry the drug money?"

"Alex."

He shook his head. "But you said you loved him."

"I did." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Only, I loved her."

Larry pushed away from the counter and ran a hand through his short hair. "You're telling me this now?"

"It doesn't change anything…"

"Like hell it doesn't," he interrupted, spinning around to face the back door. They were silent for a moment before Larry spoke again. "Why didn't you tell me this two years ago?"

"I don't know." She lowered her head.

"You know, Piper. It's not like you to…to conveniently forget a key part of a story." He turned to face her again.

"I thought you wouldn't want to continue seeing me if you knew I'd been with a woman," she let out in a quick breath.

He put his hands on his hips. "You weren't just with this woman…this Alex…you loved her."

"I did," came out as a whisper. Piper straightened her posture, trying not to let her long-abandoned feelings for Alex resurface. "But that was 12 years ago, and now I fucking hate her."

"Because she named you," he stated rather than asked.

Piper nodded.

"So, are you a lesbian?"

She shot him a look. "Not at the time, no."

"But you were gay."

"I fall somewhere on a spectrum." Piper shrugged. "I love who I love, and that happens to be you right now."

"Right now?" He asked with a skeptical laugh. "What about a year from now? Or five years from now when we're raising our kids?"

"Larry," she tried.

"I consider myself a pretty liberal guy, but I don't get how you can love a woman, and then a man," he interrupted.

"Then you could probably benefit from learning a little more about fluidity." As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Now, she thought, Larry would think she'd have her eye on attractive men and women. Before he spoke, Piper continued. "I've had relationships with men and women, but now I'm with you. I love you."

The doorbell rang.

"This conversation isn't over." Larry raised his eyebrows. "But I love you, too." He kissed her on the cheek before walking into the living room to welcome their first guests.

Three days after Easter, Piper got a call from Roderick Whitman's assistant, asking for a meeting the following week. She jumped at the chance, but didn't tell Larry about it in case the meeting was nothing more than, 'thanks, but no thanks.'

The couple discussed Piper's lesbian relationship again on Easter night, but Larry confessed it would take some time for him to wrap his brain around his fiancée's former love affair. Piper hoped that he could ponder her relationship silently. The last thing she wanted was for him to ask questions about her and Alex's time together. She wouldn't lie to him, and she knew Larry would have a hard time stomaching her once adventurous life. That was the thing she knew would bother him most—that she'd traveled the world on someone else's dime and had the time of her life for a year.

Over the next week, Piper made an effort to be extra affectionate towards her fiancé, hoping he'd realize that her adventurous life was long behind her and that her affection for Alex was a blip on the radar. She'd convinced herself of that very thing the moment she stepped foot at Litchfield. She swore if she ever saw Alex Vause again, she'd give her a piece of her mind, and it wouldn't be pretty.

Hating Alex was convenient; it made Piper feel less guilty for leaving her former girlfriend in Paris after her mother died. Now, they could each stew in their hatred for each other without having to see the other again.

That wasn't always the case.

After she left Paris, Piper returned to the US and tried to put the dark haired beauty behind her. She was successful for a week, forcing herself to recall the difficult positions Alex had put her in towards the end of their time abroad. Piper had felt underappreciated, neglected and used. She'd given Alex multiple chances to change her ways and make up for the time she had to spend traveling for the cartel and leaving Piper behind, but the brunette quickly returned to her old ways, blaming the high-stress job on her lack of attention to her girlfriend.

As the months, and eventually years, marched on, Piper's thoughts about Alex softened. She allowed herself to remember the good times—snorkeling in Mallorca, drinking Champagne at the Bollinger Estate in France, riding horses in the Irish countryside, taking a Flamenco lesson in Seville.

And of course, there was the sex—mind-blowing, life-altering, five-minute-orgasm sex. Piper often wondered if she stayed with Alex longer than she should have because of their physical connection. At times, she thought that must've been the case, but when she was being truly honest with herself, Piper knew that it was more than that—so much more.

They had more in common than they'd originally thought. At first, the physical attraction trumped any other connection, but as the women spent more time together, they realized that, for the most part, they liked the same books, the same music and the same politics. They both had an adventurous spirit that needed quenching. Alex was a seasoned traveler and enjoyed being a tour guide, while Piper hadn't left the country (save for a quick trip to Montreal in her teens) and yearned to discover life outside of the United States. The couple had intellectual discussions about the history and culture of whatever city they were in, and Piper had to give her former lover credit for being so incredibly knowledgeable and worldly without having stepped foot in college.

In the beginning of their relationship, when Piper first joined Alex abroad, the blonde couldn't wait for her lover to return from dinner with a prince or a meeting with a Middle Eastern billionaire to hear how it went. She peppered Alex with questions about etiquette when she was face-to-face with royalty or the elaborate gifts that she received from clients. Everything about Alex fascinated the young and impressionable 22-year-old.

Those things—those times—weren't recorded in Piper's memoir; it was more about life in prison, because that's what the blonde thought would sell. Until her meeting with Roderick Whitman.

"Good morning, Ms. Chapman. It's been awhile." The elderly man stood to shake her hand.

The two had only conversed briefly when Piper was an intern at the publishing company many years ago. Roderick Whitman was a legend in the publishing world, receiving credit for making hundreds of authors best-selling stars. In fact, he had more New York Times best seller authors on his label than any other living publisher. To be in his presence was astonishing for anyone who knew anything about modern, American literature.

"Hello." Piper wiped her sweaty hands on her black skirt before shaking Mr. Whitman's hand. "Thank you so much for meeting with me."

"I remember you," he said with fondness as he removed his glasses, tapping the tip of the metal frames against his lips. "Julia reminded me of who you were, but now that I have a good look at you, I remember when you interned here."

"I'm flattered, sir." She touched her hand to her chest.

"I don't remember every intern; that would be absurd, but I certainly remember you, Ms. Chapman. You have a look about you." He carefully lowered himself to his desk chair. "Please, have a seat."

Piper didn't know what 'look' she had and always considered herself an average blonde-haired, blue eyed woman. If Mr. Whitman was to be believed, she had no idea what it was about her that had stood out all those years ago.

"I read your memoir." He put his eyeglasses back on and flipped a few pages before looking up at his guest. "It's good. It's better than good, Ms. Chapman."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

"I do think that the audience will be far more fascinated by your relationship with this woman…this Jaye Reed, than by your time in prison, but the incarceration chapters are most appealing to me."

Even though Piper had intentionally renamed Alex in her book, her heart jumped at the mention of the fictitious name.

"There appears to be only two chapters about your life with Jaye, and I'm wondering if you'd care to elaborate a bit more about your adventures across the globe with her and the drug cartel?" He leaned back in his chair.

"I could certainly do that," she replied, already nervous about the prospect of having to write about her former life, but not foolish enough to ignore the publishing giant's request.

"Very good." He tossed the thick stack of paper on his desk. "Send me what you come up with next week, and I'll ask my assistant to arrange another meeting if I like what I see."

"Ok. Yes. Thank you. I'll get right on it." She scooted to the edge of her seat, waiting to be dismissed.

"I trust that you'll be able to paint a picture of danger, intrigue and lust." He smiled. "You know, the stuff that sells."

"I'll do my best." She returned his smile. "Thank you for the opportunity."

"Have a nice day and enjoy the abundant sunshine." He turned to look out of the 17th floor window. "I hear it's supposed to hit 80 for the first time this year."

"A sure sign that we'll have a hot summer." Piper stood. "Thank you again, Mr. Whitman."

Piper was secretly glad that Julia had to cancel their lunch plans, because she needed time to process what she was about to embark upon. It was one thing to think about the time she and Alex had spent together, but it was a different ballgame to have to write about it.

She boarded the Subway and closed her eyes, and images of her former lover instantly filled her mind. She pictured white, Egyptian cotton sheets fluttering over them like clouds as they laughed, completely naked, under the expensive hotel linens. Piper kept her eyes shut, remembering the very weight of Alex's body on top of hers as they made love in the middle of a warm, summer afternoon. She could almost smell the faint scent of gardenias wafting through their luxury suite in Bali.

There was no way that Piper could write about her love affair without conjuring up memories of their time together—some of them more akin to a nightmare, others simply heavenly. She wondered if she should take time off of work and go to her grandmother's cabin for a few days as she poured those memories onto paper. One thing she knew for certain—she couldn't write those scenes with Larry nearby.

"I'm going to take a couple days off work," she tried as she set the dinner table that night. "Work on my book."

Larry gave her a questioning glare. "You need time off for that?"

"Julia gave a rough draft to Roderick Whitman, and he liked it," she said nonchalantly, placing two glasses of water on the table.

"Whitman doesn't just 'take a look' at something." He put his hands on his hips. "What aren't you telling me, Piper?"

"Nothing!" She turned to face her fiancé. "He gave Julia a few notes for me, and I want to work on some edits without any distractions."

"Whitman gave her notes?"

She nodded.

"Piper, this is far more serious than you've let on." Larry took a step towards her. "Are you actually thinking about publishing this thing?"

"Yes." She crossed her brows. "Why didn't you take me seriously? I told you about my idea, and you seemed supportive."

"I was…I am." He scratched his forehead. "But I had no idea someone like Roderick Whitman would pick it up!"

Piper jutted her head back. "Is that a problem for you?"

"No!" He ran a hand down his face. "I'm happy for you. Really, I am."

"But?"

"I'd like to read what you have before you publish your life's story so I'm not blindsided at the fucking Barnes & Noble by your lesbian affair!" He pretended to be a random person at the bookstore. "You're Larry Bloom, right? What's it like to have a gay fiancée?"

"It's coming back to that?" she raised her voice. "You're jealous that I have the potential of publishing a book, and I'm not even a writer."

"Like hell I am," Larry huffed.

She leaned forward. "Then why are you so fucking hung up on the fact that I had a girlfriend a decade ago?"

"Because it makes me feel like less of a man!" He blurted out.

They both hung their heads, and Piper rubbed her tired eyes with her thumb and forefinger.

"You're not less of anything, Larry." She reached for him. "I had an exciting, mostly ill-advised romp in my early 20s that led me to prison. There's nothing you should be concerned about or afraid of—I want to marry you. Alex is my past; you're my future."

He squeezed her hand. "But you're going to write about her."

"To tell a story, to sell books, to make money," she replied slowly with elevated eyebrows. "That's all."

Larry clenched his jaw. "Will you let me read it?"

"Of course." The request sent butterflies to her stomach, but Piper knew there was no way around Larry reading the book before it was published—if it was published.

Her plan was to allow Larry to read what she'd already written—that was safe. She'd spend the next few days expanding upon the parts about her and Alex, and once she was comfortable enough with that, she'd sit with her fiancé as he read those more graphic chapters.

Piper called in sick the next day, which happened to be a Friday. She drove to Maine to stay in her grandmother's old cabin, which hadn't been occupied on a regular basis in at least a year. She almost forgot how to get there, but she remembered in an instant where her grandmother had kept the spare key.

Piper hoisted her laptop bag over one arm, shoved a taped-up shoebox under the other, and drug a small suitcase behind her. The moment she was inside the tiny cabin, memories of her childhood came crashing down—Danny falling off the bunk bed and breaking his arm; Cal using one of their grandmother's pans as a target and shooting his BB gun at it; her parents getting into screaming matches on the front porch.

She set the shoebox on the table and reached for the light switch. At least someone was still paying the bills, she thought. Piper roamed around the small space, removing furniture covers, touching old picture frames and opening the curtains. She'd had some good memories in that cabin—she'd lost her first tooth there, celebrated her 12th birthday, and ate a lobster roll for the first time. Her family built campfires and roasted marshmallows one summer when the world seemed right; Danny taught his siblings how to roll a joint; and Piper took her first sip of beer in the woods behind the shed.

Once Piper was satisfied with the cleanliness of the place, she opened a bottle of white wine and took her laptop out of its case. The sun streamed into the side windows, so she perched herself on a recliner that once seemed so big, and settled in to tell her tale.

The more wine Piper drank, the more the stories flowed from her brain to her computer screen. Her plan was to jot down every scene she remembered from her travels, and then she'd delete the ones that were either too intimate or too boring. Most of what she captured seemed like it would be exciting to a reader. With every sentence, Piper recalled what it felt like to actually live out those moments—the time she jumped off a cliff into the water below, the time she got her first tattoo, the time they had sex under a towel on a public beach—those were the good times.

Then she wrote about being asked to pick up drug money in Turkey; Alex being gone for two weeks without so much as a phone call; Alex not meeting her at the airport, forcing her to spend three days in Paris alone. Those were the worst of times—the ones Piper held onto so that she could dislike Alex as much as she did…or should.

Piper stopped typing when she couldn't ignore her stomach growling every ten seconds. She glanced at the clock on her laptop and noticed it was going on midnight. She'd been writing for nearly 12 hours without more than a few bathroom breaks. Piper stood, twisting her back and hearing the tendons pop. She cracked her neck and headed into the bathroom in hopes that the hot water heater still worked.

Much to her enjoyment, the warm water poured out of the faucet after only a few minutes. She stood under the spray, remembering the time she and Alex took an outdoor shower in the Seychelles. Alex had given her a sizeable hickey on her collarbone that day and teased her about having to wear a turtleneck in the 80 degree weather to cover it up. When Alex was happy, everything was right in the world. She'd showered Piper with affection and smiled in a way that Piper knew was reserved exclusively for her.

Piper had only packed the basics in terms of food—cheese and crackers, salami, a bag of mixed nuts, a baguette and a few slices of turkey. She made herself a sandwich, and then opened the refrigerator to see if it was still working and was pleasantly surprised that it was cool inside. She transferred the turkey and two more bottles of wine, a Chardonnay and a rosé, into the fridge. As she chewed the dry sandwich, Piper strolled back into the living room, picking up picture frame after picture frame, looking at the old photos. The most recent one had to have been at least ten years old, and Cal was almost unrecognizable. She smiled at the photograph, placed it back on the mantle, and then curled up on the old sofa, tossing an afghan that her grandmother had knitted many years ago over her legs.

As she absorbed the once familiar scenery around her, Piper's eyes were drawn to the shoebox that she'd brought, wondering what she'd find inside if she'd have the courage to open it. There was only one item that she remembered placing in the box—the e-mail that Alex had sent her about her mother's funeral arrangements. Piper had printed the e-mail along with driving directions to the cemetery, but she didn't attend the services. She'd driven to the cemetery, arriving too late, and watched Alex get into the car with Fahri. She remembered how badly the tears had stung her eyes that day, and she'd vowed to stay away from Alex Vause from that moment on.

Her phone buzzed, disturbing her from her reverie—a text from Larry saying good night. He was such a good guy, and Piper knew she was lucky to have him in her life. She never allowed herself to compare Larry to Alex; that wouldn't be fair. They were two entirely different people with entirely different meanings in her life. Alex was never someone who Piper thought she'd settle down with. Of course at one point, probably four or five months into their relationship when they admitted their love for one another, she'd hoped they'd live happily ever after, but that feeling was short-lived as she began figuring out that Alex's love of power was more potent than her love of Piper.

She texted her fiancé good night, and then switched on the stereo that she remembered playing N'Sync and Backstreet Boys on all those years ago. Piper could see a CD inside the single-disc player, so she hit the green button and heard Joni Mitchell blast through the two speakers that flanked the rather large stereo.

Piper closed her eyes, slowly drifting off to sleep as the lyrics from Both Sides Now played in her head.

Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels, the dizzy dancing way you feel

as every fairy tale comes real; I've looked at love that way.

But now it's just another show. You leave 'em laughing when you go

and if you care, don't let them know, don't give yourself away.

The next morning, Piper's neck was stiff as she shifted on the sofa. Despite the early summer heat during the day, it was still cool at night and in the mornings. She pulled the blanket over her body and turned her head to the side as she recalled where she was. The first thing Piper noticed was the shoebox sitting on the table, and if it had the properties to be able to taunt her, she believed it would.

She slowly sat up, stretching and shivering as the afghan slipped to her waist. Piper walked over to the table and traced her fingertips over the duct tape that had kept the shoebox 'locked' for 12 years. She picked it up, tucking it under her arm, and stared out the front window as the sun rose between the tall Evergreens. Without putting the box down, she threw a sweater over her shoulders and opened the front door. The air was crisp and clean—something she never truly appreciated until after she was released from prison. Piper walked back inside and grabbed the blanket, and then sat on the old pine swing big enough to fit two people, placing the shoebox on her lap. She took a deep breath before lifting the edge of the thick, gray tape. Piper's grandmother always told her to rip Band-Aids off quickly to lessen the pain, so she applied that advice to the duct tape, and in five seconds, it was off.

With the lid still firmly in place, Piper contemplated what she was hoping to find in the shoebox. She told herself that the reason why it was important to see what was inside was for research purposes—if there were trinkets that reminded her of her of a certain place and time with Alex, those would allow her to write a more poignant story.

Lifting the lid, she brought the box up to her face, taking a big whiff of the contents. There was no scent, really, and she didn't care to examine why that was such a disappointment. As she reached inside, she pulled out the printed e-mail and directions that she knew she'd find. She glanced at the folded paper, flipping the page to see the date stamp on the top. Remembering that somber day brought a pang to her chest. She wondered what would've happened if she'd gotten out of the car and apologized to Alex right then and there. Would Alex have accepted her apology or told her it was too little, too late? She took a deep breath, then put the documents aside and reached for something else.

The first thing that caught her eye was a small Ziploc bag with a locket of Alex's blue hair. She remembered the bet they'd made about how to find their way back to civilization after going for a long, unescorted walk in the Sinharaja Forest in Sri Lanka. "If you get us the fuck out of here, I'll cut my hair." Piper had given her lover a hard time about her blue locks, saying that they looked anything but professional, so when she won the bet and got them safely out of the forest, Piper cut four-inch chunks of Alex's blue hair as the women laughed at the ridiculous bet.

The blonde reached inside of the Ziploc and rubbed the hair between her fingers. She brought it to her nose, but it no longer smelled like Alex's shampoo. She tickled her lips with the hair and sighed before putting it back into the bag.

The next item that Piper saw was a photograph of herself with Bono. She looked closely at the picture, hoping to see Alex's reflection in the mirror behind them, but she could only detect the outline of the woman snapping the picture. Piper would never forget that night—Alex had surprised her with front row tickets to a U2 show in Dublin and a backstage pass to meet the members of the band. Alex had scoffed at Piper's love of the Irish band, but the blonde knew that her girlfriend had secretly enjoyed the show.

The other items in the shoebox included a nearly empty tube of Alex's red Chanel lipstick, a turquoise ring that Alex had given her after a trip to Turkey, a postcard from Malta, and a red & white silk scarf that the brunette had used to blindfold Piper before dragging her to the balcony of their room at The Four Seasons in Grand Cayman to show her the vast Caribbean Ocean mere steps away. (They'd used that same scarf for other purposes on that trip, but Piper refused to contemplate those.)

Piper closed her eyes and let her head fall back, neck exposed to the wooden beams above. There was no way she could avoid the images of Alex that popped into her mind. Those images were all she had—she hadn't kept a photograph of Alex; in fact, she remembered tearing a few to shreds the night of Alex's mother's funeral. Piper was sorry that she hadn't kept a single one, but the box of memories was hard enough to stomach without needing to see her ex-lover's contagious smile.

She pulled out the final two items—a CD and a note. Piper remembered when Alex had handed her the "mixed tape" as she'd called it. She'd rolled her eyes and said, "This is by far the cheesiest thing I'll ever give you, and if you tell anyone about it, I'll deny I made it."

Piper hopped off of the swing, and went inside to play the disc, remembering only one song that was surely on it. Just as she figured, Kelis belted out "Milkshake," and Piper snorted with laughter when the lyrics began. She covered her mouth, almost as if embarrassed that she found enjoyment in the memory of the dance they'd created. The other songs on the CD didn't have as much meaning, but they reminded Piper desperately of Alex.

Piper kept the music playing as she opened a folded note, which was the last item in the box. Otis Redding sang, "These Arms of Mine" as Piper regarded the ivory stationary with AV embossed at the top. She ran her fingers over the letters as she read the note:

Good morning, babe,

Toaster's broken, but the coffeemaker still works. Will make French toast when I get back. Don't get dressed.

Love,

Alex

Piper clutched the paper to her chest and felt tears burn her eyes. She'd never forget that morning—Alex had gone out to get the Sunday New York Times, and when she returned, Piper had a hot glue gun in the toaster. They'd laughed until they cried and ended up having sex on the kitchen table.

The emotional roller coaster was too much, so Piper wiped her eyes and got dressed to go for a morning jog. She needed to clear her mind, especially of the good times. When she returned to the cabin, she could write more of her memoir, focusing on the stories about why she'd left Alex all those years ago.