The California sun relaxes me as I drink in its warmth in my backyard. I recline in the chaise, tilting my head to catch the last rays before they sink and fade to dusk. The leaves of several palm trees that line our backyard fence rustle from a light breeze, calming me.

The day's events have taken their toll on me. And with Toni down with the flu, I'll be back at The House in less than twenty-four hours to cover her shift. Despite it being early evening, I really should be getting ready for bed and sleeping off some of my exhaustion. But I've let Nattie talk me into a glass of wine and some pizza that she's making inside.

I close my eyes, leaning my head back, sighing as I allow myself to believe that the new facilities will become a reality. ; That our new approach for treating orphaned children can expand and hopefully become the pioneering protocol for change in our foster system. We can strengthen our case that creating small groups of kids under one roof—where they consistently have guardians, rules, school, counseling—will lead to well-adjusted adults. They will have a place where they belong.

A shiver of pride runs through me as I think of all of the possibilities and all of the hope that we can create with the completion of this project.

And then I suddenly feel sick from thinking about him. I still can't figure out what to make of his comment that he doesn't do the "girlfriend thing." Why do I still keep thinking about him if there's nothing there? Because there is. I can't deny that he's more than easy on the eyes. And I definitely can't act as if the sparks that shoot up my arm when he touches me are imaginary. But I don't want to get involved with him and his womanizing ways, especially now that I have to because of work.

I sigh heavily when I hear the sliding door open and Nattie walks out with a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a pizza box stacked with plates and napkins on top. I suddenly realize how hungry I am. She walks toward me, the sun framing her short figure, setting her blonde hair alight like a halo around her head. Long, lean legs stretch from short khaki shorts, and her oversized bosom is covered in an a orange camisole. As usual, she is accessorized perfectly and styled flawlessly. And despite her tireless perfection that makes me feel inadequate in so many ways, I love her like the sister I never had.

"I'm starving," I announce, sitting up from the chair to help Nattie place everything on the table.

"And I'm starving for information on what's going on with you. On why you're out here so deep in thought," she prods as she pours red wine into the glasses, and I serve the pizza.

"Just like in our dorm room, " I say nodding at our meal, laughing at the memory.

She was my freshman year roommate. I could have never guessed that first week of college orientation that the Barbie doll I roomed with would turn out to be my best friend. She waltzed into our dorm room looking like a model out of a Ralph Lauren ad campaign, so confident and sure of herself, her picture-perfect family following behind her. She slowly took in our meager surroundings, the painted brick walls and small closet space. My gawky self watched her, cringing at the thought of having to be reminded every morning of how inferior I was to this beautiful creature.

I sat picking at the hem of my dress as her parents left for good. She shut the door, turned to me, a huge grin on her heart-shaped lips, and said, "Thank God they're finally gone!" I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she sagged against the door in relief. She angled her head, studying me, sizing me up. "I think it's time to celebrate!" she said, hurrying over to her suitcase.

Within moments, she produced a bottle of tequila hidden deep in her belongings. She then flopped on my bed next to me. She unscrewed the cap and held the bottle up in the air between us. "To Freshman year!" she toasted, "To friendship, freedom, cute boys, and having each other's backs." She winced as she took a swig of the strong alcohol and then handed the bottle over to me. I looked nervously back and forth between her and the bottle, and then wanting desperately to be liked by her, took a swallow, the burn bringing tears to my eyes.

"My God, we were so naïve then…and young!" she reminisces. "We've been through so much since freshman orientation!"

"All we need is that cheap tequila to bring us back." I laugh and then fall silent as the impending night starts to eat the sun's rays. "Eight years is a long time, Nat," I say, taking a long drink of the tart wine, letting it soothe the anxiety gnawing at the edges of my mind.

"Long enough," she says, taking a seat, looking at me, "that I know something is bugging you. What is going on, Meg?"

I smile, so grateful to have a friend like her and feeling cursed at the same time because I can't hid anything from her. I feel tears burn my eyes, the sudden onset of emotions surprising me.

Nattie leans forward, her perfectly tanned legs bending beneath her as she reaches out and places a hand on my leg. "What is it, Megan? What has you so twisted up?"

I take a moment to find my voice, wanting to tell her everything, to get her opinion on whether I'm being obtuse about Dean. Maybe I know what she is going to tell me if I confess, and that's why I find myself holding back. Not wanting to hear that it's okay to let go and feel again. That being with someone else does nothing to tarnish Justin, his memory, or what we had together.

"There are too many things. I don't even know where to start," I confess, trying to sift through my mental baggage. "I'm exhausted from work—worried about Aleister's lack of progress, wrapping up all of the details from the benefit last Saturday night," I say, running my hands through my hair, "and the fact that I'm back to the house tomorrow to cover Toni's shift because she's sick…"

"Can't someone else cover it?" she asks, taking a bite of pizza. "You've worked way too many hours this week. I've barely seen you."

"No one can. Not this week. Everyone's hours are maxed out because of all extra time I had them put in for the benefit…and since I'm on salary…it's left to me," I explain.

"I understand why you do it, Meg—why you love it—but don't let it kill you, sweetie."

"I know. I know. You sound like my mother!" I take a bite of my pizza and chew it slowly. "The good news though, is that I think we secured the rest of the funding for the facility."

"What?" she sputters, sitting up quickly. "Why didn't you tell me? This calls for a celebration," she says, clinking her glass with mine. "What happened? How? Details!"

"We're still ironing out the final details before making anything public," I say, trying to hide my contempt for how we secured the funding, "and then we'll make an announcement." I hope that my answer will be enough to keep her questions at bay.

"Okay," she says slowly, eyeing me, wondering why I'm not being more forthcoming. "So then what's up with your auction dated thing that Finn was telling me about?"

I look down, twisting the ring that sits on my right ring finger. I worry it around and around out of habit. "Not sure yet," I say, looking up, noticing her watching me twist my ring.

She looks up, tears in her eyes. "It's because the anniversary is coming up soon isn't it? That's why you seem so overwhelmed?" she scoots out of her chair and sits next to me, wrapping her arms around me. For a brief moment, I allow myself to give in to the memories and to the thoughts that surround the approaching date. I haven't really put the two together, my sudden sentimentality and my scattered emotional state over the possibility of acting on the nonexistent connection with Dean. I guess I'm subconsciously ignoring the traumatic date, wanting to close my eyes to the grief that will forever exist in the depths of my soul.

I wipe a tear from my cheek and withdraw from the warmth of Nattie's embrace. "Yeah." I shrug. "Just too much all at once." This is the truth, but I feel guilty about not telling Nattie the whole of it.

"Well, sister," she says, handing back my glass of wine, "let's drink a bunch of wine, wallow in pity, and laugh at our stupid selves." Her sincere smile lifts my mood.

I clink my glass to hers, thankful for her friendship. "Cheers, my dear!"