Coffee today. 3 PM. If you don't say something, I'm coming to pick you up.

That was all Maya texted me the following morning when I woke up. It wasn't a request, but nothing ever was when it came to my best friend. I was tempted to text back and decline, just to see what would happen.

Ok. But I'll need a ride.

I'll be there at 2:30.

I knew this was another diversion. Her way of trying to cheer me up. Maybe I needed a diversion at that moment. I had yet to get in touch with Uncle Josh about the whole production assistant thing, though I was sure that my dad had already gotten in touch with him that night itself. What was I supposed to say?

"Hey Uncle Josh, it's your niece Riley. Please give me a job?"

I knew he would. But could he even give me a job? Wouldn't that count as nepotism? Would somebody say something? Have an issue with it? Would it be unethical to hire me since I had no experience and the only thing I had going for me was that I was related to him by blood? It would be a personal favor more than anything else.

I did my research on the role of a production assistant for a documentary and it sounded simple enough. I would basically be a glorified intern, helping the crew set up their equipment and remaining on-hand once shooting started in case they needed anything. I could do that. I could take orders and get things for people. It wasn't something that exactly needed experience. And maybe it wouldn't be so tedious since I'd actually be out and doing things.

I sighed as I sat down at my laptop and began hammering out an email to my uncle. My uncle who hadn't been in New York since he graduated NYU three years ago and began his filmmaking career. My uncle who, at only three years older than me, was more like a brother than anything else. My uncle, who I had barely seen or heard from because he was usually off in some remote location halfway around the world, even during holidays. I wasn't even sure how to start.

Dear Uncle Josh

No. Too formal.

Hey, Uncle Josh

Better. More his style.

Hey, Uncle Josh.

My dad told me—

No. I didn't want to make it seem like I needed my dad to find me a job. Then again, Dad probably already talked to him anyway. Whatever.

Hey, Uncle Josh.

I heard that you're going to be doing a film project in New York and that you're looking for a production assistant. I was wondering if I could help you out and take that position.

I deleted, re-typed, read, and reread the email over and over, but it never seemed right. Always too casual or too formal. Always too desperate or too cold. Always annoying when I read it to myself. I wouldn't even hire myself had I gotten an email like that.

My father used to tell me that coincidences don't exist. They're just the universe's way of saying hi. Coincidentally, Uncle Josh texted me before I was able to finish composing the email.

Hey Riley! Heard you're looking for a job. Your dad said you're interested in being my production assistant. Is that true?

I hesitated only a moment. Yes.

Can you call me?

I inhaled, then dialed his number.

He answered on the second ring. "Hey, Riley!"

"Hi, Uncle Josh," I replied breathlessly.

"So," he began, "your dad said you're looking for a job? Something about transitioning out of freelance?"

"Yeah. Something like that."

"Well I've been looking for a production assistant for weeks and so far everyone interested has been a dud. It would be great if you joined the production. How much do you know about it?"

"Almost nothing," I answered. "Dad said it has to do with social services or something?"

"Yeah," he said. "We're working with the New York Office of Child and Family Services and a couple of sponsors to produce this documentary about the foster care system. We're gonna be shadowing social workers, interviewing kids and families, stuff like that. The pay won't be that great—I could probably get you about seventeen an hour—and we're gonna be going into some pretty awful parts of the City, but hopefully by the end we'll have a product worth showing. I'm still getting the final permits and all in place but I leave Philadelphia in a week to start preliminary stuff and the first shoot's in two weeks. Are you available?"

"Wait, that's it?" I questioned, trying to process everything he'd just told me. "You don't want to interview me or see an application or a resume or anything?"

I thought I could hear him laugh on the other end. "Riley, I already know all I need to know about you. You're reliable, you work hard, you get along well with pretty much anyone. I don't need to interview you to know you'll be really good to have on this project. So? You in?"

I hesitated. As interesting as this whole thing sounded, I still had no real idea what to expect. And while seventeen an hour wasn't as bad as it could be, it wasn't great either. Especially if this was just a temporary gig. But then again, I was literally being handed a job. I had to take it. "I'm in. Do you need a place to stay when you get to New York?"

"No, actually. I'm crashing at your parents' place. But thanks," Uncle Josh answered. "I'll send you an email with the details. I might need you to pick up some paperwork before I get there. I'll let you know. This is gonna be great! Can't wait to see you!"

"Me neither," I found myself smiling, although I couldn't tell if I was excited about the prospect of a new job or if I was just excited because he was excited.

"Talk to you soon, Riley."

"Okay, talk to you soon."

I hung up the phone and just like that I was employed again. I didn't even have to work at it, really. It just came to me. And part of me hated that because grown-up Riley shouldn't be relying on coincidences—on the universe's hellos—to get a job. Grown-up Riley should've been able to find herself something to do, not stumble into it by accident. But I was officially a production assistant for Uncle Josh's documentary, and some part of me—most of me—was looking forward to starting.

Maya texted me at 2:30 to let me know she was double-parked right outside my building and I was excited to actually have an update for her. Something good, for once. The heat was going full blast and Maya was fixing her makeup in the mirror on the sun visor when I climbed into the car.

"Hey, sweetie," she greeted, touching up her lip gloss and then dropping the tube into her handbag. She chucked her purse into the back and leaned over the gear lever to hug me.

"Hey," I smiled.

Maya eyed my jeans and turtleneck and lack of make-up, then twisted around to grab her handbag again. She dug around inside and pulled out the tube of lip gloss. "Here, honey. Put some of this on. There's some eyeshadow in there too, I think," she said as she dropped the whole bag on my lap.

I frowned. "Why do I need to put on makeup? I thought we were just getting coffee."

"We are. What? You can't look pretty for our coffee date?"

I knew right away something was up when she demanded I put on makeup to get coffee. Maya's a schemer. She's always been a schemer. But the problem with schemers is that no matter how well you know them, you can never really know what they're planning until they spring it on you. Until they're ready for you to know. I reluctantly complied with her request and brushed on a little lip gloss and eye makeup until a livery cab pulled up behind us and began honking his horn, forcing Maya to angrily merge into traffic.

"So where are we going?" I asked as we headed toward the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel.

"Flatbush," Maya told me.

"What's in Flatbush?"

"This little coffee shop that sometimes has local art exhibitions," she answered, easing through the toll booth as EZ PASS PAID flashed on the little screen.

"What's wrong with Starbucks?"

"I just thought that it might be nice to go here instead," she replied distractedly.

"But Maya, there's tons of Starbucks all over the place. Wouldn't it be easier to just go to one of them?"

"Pumpkin, we're going to this coffee shop. I already paid the toll."

"But—okay," I relented. Maya relaxed in her seat. I wondered if I should break the good news now or wait until we got to the coffee shop so we'd have something to talk about. Then again, Maya always had something to talk about or a question to ask or a topic to start a conversation. "So, I have some news," I began.

"Yeah?" my best friend arched a brow, taking her eyes off the road momentarily to glance at me.

"Good news," I elaborated.

"So are you planning to tell me or are you just going to leave me in suspense?" she teased.

I thought I'd stay quiet for a bit, just to keep her in suspense, but I couldn't contain myself. "I got a job!" I burst.

Maya let out a cheer and threw both hands in the air in celebration, causing the car to drift so far in its lane that I briefly worried she'd lose control. She quickly resumed her driving position once more. "Sweetie, that's great news! When? How? What? Who?"

We emerged from the tunnel on the Brooklyn side. "Well," I said, "I'm going to be a production assistant on a documentary."

Maya hung a right. "What's that involve?"

"Oh, you know, helping set up locations, getting paperwork, fetching supplies…"

"So a gofer?"

"No!" I insisted, gesturing in the air and seeking the words to explain, "more like…a personal assistant."

"So a gofer," Maya teased.

"Okay, fine. Maybe a little like a gofer," I conceded. "But it pays. And I'll get to be out and about. And it's a documentary. So it's not like it's that different from journalism."

"Honey, I'm so happy for you," Maya said. "Do you think you'll like this better?"

I hesitated. "Yes," I replied. "I hope."

"How'd you find this gig anyway?"

I smirked. "Funny you should ask. Because the director and producer of this project is someone we both know."

"Is it?" she arched a brow again.

"Yes," I nodded. "Someone you once knew as…Uncle Boing."

Maya tapped the brakes, jerking both of us forward in our seats. "What?"

I giggled. "It's okay, Maya. We've all had our fair share of puppy love. I had a crush on Farkle in fifth grade, remember that?" And I was practically in love with your husband from seventh through ninth grade. "I had a crush on Farkle and you had a not-at-all obsession with my Uncle Josh. Nothing to be ashamed of."

"Go on…" she growled with a note of humor, hunched over a little further in her seat. I couldn't tell if she was urging me or daring me.

"Anyway," I continued, "Uncle Josh is the director and producer for the documentary. Dad told me he still needed a production assistant so I got in touch with him and he said he'd hire me!"

"Riles, that sounds great! What's the documentary on?"

"Foster care," I said. Maya frowned. "We're taking an in-depth look at the system, the social workers, and the kids inside. I think it'll be interesting."

"Uh-huh," my best friend suddenly seemed a little unsure. "Riley, have you ever met a foster child before?"

I struggled to think. "No. I don't think I have, actually."

"I have," Maya answered. "There's a few in my class."

"And…?" I started to worry.

"Look, Riles, it's great that you're doing this and all but…well, don't be surprised if what you see upsets you. These kids get pulled out of awful situations and put into homes that are only slightly better. If that."

I smiled. "Well, maybe this documentary will help make things better."

"Maybe," she mused, pulling to the curb in the only open spot she could find. "Coffee shop's a block that way. Feel like walking?"

"Sure," I shrugged.

The place Maya ended up taking me to was a little hole-in-the-wall coffee shop. Barely a single storefront. Four tables for two along an exposed brick wall and a few mismatched, gaudy-colored couches in the middle of the concrete floor. High ceilings. It was almost completely empty, save for the one woman in the corner tapping away at a laptop. Local artists' work hung on the wall opposite the brick. No prints by Maya. I walked over to one of the two-tops and draped my jacket over the back of a seat. Maya stole a chair from the neighboring table and set it at ours, then dropped down in the seat across from me.

"Oh, is Lucas coming?" I asked, glancing to the empty chair.

"Nope," Maya shook her head, blue eyes darting around the room.

"Hey, Ms. Friar," the barista greeted from the register, waving his hand. He looked young. Maybe still in high school.

"Student of yours?" I asked.

Maya shook her head. "Nope. But all the staff knows me. I had three pieces exhibited here before. They all sold within the first week."

"Is Farkle coming?" I questioned.

"Nope," she answered again, setting her handbag down on the empty third chair.

"Same as always, Ms. Friar?"

"Yes, please, Tyler," she called to the barista, picking up her purse and rooting around for her wallet.

"What's the third chair for?"

Maya pretended not to hear me.

"Who else is coming?" My heart was racing. I had no idea why. If it wasn't Lucas and it wasn't Farkle, who else could it be? She didn't answer. "Maya," I said a little louder, "who else is joining us?"

The little bell above the door tinkled. I looked up and froze as a dark-haired young man entered the shop.

Five years.

I hadn't seen Charlie Gardner in five years apart from the occasional Facebook update and yet he still looked exactly the same. He'd grown his hair out to the base of his neck and, like Farkle, the bags under his eyes had deepened with years of sleepless nights. But the round face, the lively eyes, and the half-smirk that always seemed to form in place of a neutral expression remained. There was no question that the man I beheld in the doorway was Charlie Gardner, clad in an unbuttoned navy trench coat and looking hopelessly lost. He caught me staring and froze up. I glanced at Maya. She couldn't meet my gaze, fixating instead on a single spot on the wood veneer of the table, tracing loops and whorls along its shiny surface. Charlie stalked over and stood awkwardly behind the chair. Between the two of us. He rocked on his feet a little.

"Um, hi," he gave me a tight smile.

"Charlie," Maya's voice was uncharacteristically high-pitched and smooth. The barista approached the table, setting Maya's drink down and collecting the money she'd laid out for him. "So good to see you. Sit down," she gestured politely to the seat and Charlie tumbled into it like his legs had given out.

I hadn't closed my mouth once since he walked in. I wasn't sure how I felt. Nervous. Jittery. Light-headed. Ecstatic? I mustered everything I had in me and managed to squeak out, "Charlie?"

"Um, hi," he repeated, shifting stiffly in his seat. "I, uh, Maya didn't tell me…that you were going to be here." My face fell. "But it's good to see you, Riley," he added quickly.

My lip twitched. "How have you been?" I asked. I wished I had ordered a coffee. My hands felt shaky.

"Good," Charlie answered. "It's—everything's been good. You?"

How do you even begin to fill someone in on five whole years of your life? Five years of college, friendships, dreams, jobs…It's too much. I could never give him the full rundown. He had to have lived it with me to fully understand. But he hadn't. In part because I didn't let him and in part because he didn't try.

After Lucas and Maya got together, I naturally found my way back to Charlie Gardner. It seemed weird to my friends. It probably seemed weird to him, too. But to me it felt natural. And in hindsight, it probably had more to do with the fact that I was desperate for someone to like me, love me, appreciate me, look at me the way Lucas looked at Maya and she looked back. And Charlie Gardner was interested in me since middle school until I cut him off. But we never talked about that. I think he was just happy to have another shot. And I was happy to be treated like a princess. So we spent the majority of high school in the sort of whirlwind romance that my parents experienced. I've always been good at playing pretend.

But then college came around and the story changed. I was going to Oswego—a five hour car ride from home—and he was going to UCLA—a six hour plane ride from home. That summer, we promised to go long distance. We promised to Skype and text and talk on the phone. We promised to make it work. But we both left those promises at the departure gate when he got on that plane, even if we didn't realize it at first. He was going to be an architect. He was going to build things up after they'd been knocked down. After an earthquake or a hurricane had torn them apart. He was going to rebuild them stronger than ever, fortify them against all the tremors that would come afterwards. He was going to shore up their walls against floods and storms and mudslides.

I truly believe that we both gave it our all at first. But soon missed calls started going unreturned, Skype chats went unanswered, and text messages were never replied to. He was thousands of miles away from me and three hours behind. At some point, we both had to accept that we were basically living like single people. We both had our own lives. It was pointless to try and keep this up. That's what I told myself when I met him two days before Christmas in Bryant Park and told him that maybe it was best if we just went our separate ways. We promised to stay in touch, but we left that promise behind as well. Every text I sent went unanswered, every Facebook message seen but never replied to. And now, five years later, here he was.

"Been a while," he murmured, as if I didn't already know. "What have you been doing?"

"Oh, you know," I stared at the table. I definitely should have ordered coffee. "Working."

"Writing?"

"I was. I kind of switched careers recently."

"Oh?" Charlie raised a brow. "Now what are you doing?"

"Working in film," I told him. Not technically a lie.

"That's cool," he replied.

"What about you? Working?"

"Yeah, I've been working for a company for a few months now. Developing high-rises in LA."

"Cool," I glanced at Maya, who looked like she was withering with every word we said. "So, what brings you to New York, Charlie?" I fixed my gaze on Maya until our eyes met. She averted them immediately.

"I was actually visiting my family for Thanksgiving," he said. "Maya got in touch with me and suggested we meet up for coffee. I had no idea you would be here…"

I frowned. "Would that have changed your mind?"

"No! I mean—"

"You mean what?" I challenged.

"I mean, well, I would've thought about it a little."

"Why?"

Charlie sighed. "Look, Riley, it's been a long time…" I could feel my heartrate increasing with every word he said, blood pumping faster through my veins. "And had I known you would be here, I probably would've felt weird."

"And why's that?" I shot Maya a glare.

"Because, I mean look at us!" Charlie sputtered. "We can barely talk to each other. It's just been too long, Riley. Too big a distance."

"It didn't have to be like that," I stood up suddenly, the chair scraping against the concrete floor. "When we broke up, we said we'd keep in touch. And we never did. You didn't even try, Charlie! I reached out to you. You didn't want anything to do with me. And now you're saying it's too weird? We can barely talk to each other because we barely know each other anymore! Whose fault is that?"

He looked stunned. The woman in the corner of the coffee shop quickly shut her laptop and left. The barista gaped at us. Maya sank even lower in her seat but I was too engrossed in my anger to feel embarrassed. For the first time, it finally occurred to me. I hadn't done anything wrong! This wasn't my fault! I did my best. Charlie never met me halfway. Never kept up his end of the bargain. And seeing him, sitting shocked and confused, I realized it never occurred to him that he had done anything wrong. I spent five years mourning the loss of a relationship and a friendship and he clearly hadn't thought much of it at all.

"Thank you for coming, Charlie. Because I've learned one thing today. It was a good thing we broke up." I turned around and walked away, shoving the door open and embracing the rush of cold November air that greeted me as I stepped outside, striding emphatically away. I was halfway up the block before I realized I had no idea where I was or where I was going. I heard footsteps approaching behind me, then a gentle hand on my shoulder. Maya spun me around to face her.

"Why did you bring him here?" I questioned furiously. And I felt I had every right to be mad. She had dragged Charlie out to this coffee shop and set us both up. What was she hoping to accomplish? Maybe we'd reconcile and get back together? Or at the very least resume our friendship?

"Riles…"

"Why did you have to go and do that, Maya? Did you really think this was going to solve anything?"

"Riles, you were lonely. I thought maybe seeing him again…"

"Would what? Rekindle the old flame? Make me fall in love with him all over again?"

"Well…no," she deflated. "I mean, maybe some small part of me was hoping. But not expecting."

I balled my hands into fists until my nails bit into my palms. I was livid. I could have gone my whole life without ever seeing Charlie Gardner again and Maya had shoved him back into my life just when things were looking up. "Why?"

Tears began to form in the corners of Maya's blue eyes. "Because you always fixed things for me, Riles. You always poked and prodded and meddled and somehow you were so good at it. You always fixed everything when you did that. And I just thought…well, maybe I could repay you, you know? Maybe I could play Riley this time and actually fix someone else's problems. But I guess I should've left it to the expert…Are you mad at me?"

Looking back, I should have hugged her. I should have hugged her and forgiven her and understood. She did exactly what I would have done if the roles were reversed. I would have set Maya up and forced her to sit down and confront Charlie. But it still hurt to see him again. "A little," I told her honestly because she deserved to know the truth.

"I'm sorry," Maya whispered.

"Just…take me home. Please," I rubbed my temples.

"Sure."

I didn't speak to Maya on the ride home, but I felt the tension dissipating in me by the time we reached Battery Park City. My headache had subsided to a dull throb. Maya pulled up outside my building. I got out wordlessly.

"Riles?"

I turned.

"Just…call me, okay? Please? Later?"

I nodded, then turned around and headed toward my building. I could see the red hatchback lingering in the reflection of the glass doors. I wanted to turn around and get back in the car and hug my best friend and reassure her that this, too, would pass. That I wouldn't be mad forever. But I was still mad now. I threw open the door and didn't look back as I waited for the elevator. My phone chimed and I was momentarily annoyed at Maya for not being able to resist. Then I saw who it was from.

FARKLE MINKUS

Hey, Riley. Had a great time with you the other day. Want to meet up again? Maybe tomorrow?