This is the real Meredith. The one I knew in high school. The one who would come to me when the screaming got too loud, who would hide in my room when her father was on a drunken terror. The one who knew about the kind of bruises fathers can leave that no one else can see. These are the eyes of the girl who understood me when no one else did. The first girl I fell in love with.

“What am I missing, then?” I ask, softening. “And I’m not talking about the past. I’m talking about today. What do we have together now?”

“A baby,” she whispers. “We have a baby.”

“No. You have a baby. And I’m sorry if the idea of single parenthood is suddenly freaking you out, but you made the choice. You bought the sperm and dove right in.”

“I never bought any sperm,” she whispers.

“Bullshit. I know you want to pretend the baby is Will’s, but—”

“It’s not Will’s, and I didn’t buy sperm. I just told people that because I didn’t want them to know the pregnancy was accidental. The baby’s yours, Max. You’re the father.”

A car rushes past, splashing yesterday’s rain puddles onto the grass. Laughter rings out in the distance.

“I don’t believe you.”

She shrugs and swipes at her cheeks. “Well, some things are true whether you believe them or not.”

Then she walks away.

17. Hanna

NATE CRANE’S Secret Fatty Fetish

I don’t know what made me look him up online. Maybe having Max’s ring in my jewelry box is messing with my head. Maybe I just wanted to pull up pictures of a sexy man who actually seemed to want me for me—not for what I can do for his future.

Regardless, when I sat down with my computer this morning, something made me go to Google and enter Nate’s name. There it was, one of the top hits—a website known for celebrity gossip featuring a picture of Nate holding me up against the side of that building, my thick thigh practically wrapped around his waist.

Fatty fetish.

Shit. Who am I fooling? I’m no one special, and whatever Nate seemed to see in me, the rest of the world doesn’t see. I sure don’t see it.

I close my laptop and fold my legs under me, my brain already piecing together a weight-loss plan. Maybe Nate thought I was gorgeous, but I’m never going to see him again. It was one night, and now I’m facing the rest of my life in a world where I’m the chubby chick at best, the “fatty” at worst. I won’t do it. I won’t live like that.

“I brought us donuts!” Liz calls from the kitchen.

The sound of rustling bags tells me that she’s unloading groceries. “Thanks.” But a donut is the last thing I need. What I need is a few hours on the treadmill. And why not? I have free access to Max’s health club, don’t I?

My phone rings, and I pull it from my pocket and see an Indianapolis area code. Who’s calling me from Indy?

“Hello?”

“Is this Hanna Thompson?” the man on the other end asks.

“It is. Who is this?”

“I’m calling from the offices of Smith, Peterson, and Frank in Indianapolis. We’d like to arrange a meeting with you to discuss a business matter on behalf of one of our clients.”

Liz walks into the room, a half-eaten chocolate Long John hanging from her fingers. “Who’s that?” she whispers.

“Who’s the client?” I ask, ignoring Liz.

“We’ll explain everything when you arrive,” the assistant says. “Can you make it in this afternoon? Say, around two?”

I frown. “Sure. I guess.”

The assistant gives me the address, and I jot it down while Liz stares on with growing impatience.

“What was that about?” she asks when I hang up the phone. She takes another bite of donut, and my stomach growls. I haven’t eaten anything since the banana I had for dinner last night.

“A lawyer in Indianapolis wants to meet with me.”

“Did some rich relative we don’t know about die and leave you his fortune?”

I smile. “I’m hoping.”

“Let’s assume that’s what it is. Then you can open your bakery and give me a job, since no one in this town wants to hire me to teach.”

“You know that none of the teachers make a final decision about retiring until the start of the new school year,” I say. “Something will come around.”

“We’ll see.” She shrugs. “Donut?” she asks, holding it out for me.

I’m nearly nauseated by the sight of it and how much it reminds me of my chunky thigh on display for the world in that picture. “I’ll pass. Want to go running with me this morning?”

She wrinkles her nose and casts a glance over her shoulder. “Do you see someone chasing me?”

18. Max

SHE FOUND out. My stomach churns at the idea as I step into the old Woolworth building on Main. Hanna found out, and it’s going to ruin everything.

She turns to me when I enter, and for a minute, it’s like the last two weeks never happened. She grins and steps toward me, hand outstretched. Then, as if remembering herself, she stops and drops her hand.

“Hi,” she whispers. “Thanks for coming.”

I swallow. Hard. One more step and she would have been in my arms, an old habit that would have given me a hit of her scent, the both calming and arousing contact of her body against mine. But she stopped because, no matter how sorry I am, no matter how much I try to explain how I feel, she can’t forget. She can’t forgive.

“What are we doing here?” I ask.

“What would you say if I told you I was going to open a bakery?”

I smile. I can’t help it. Joy rolls off her when she says the word bakery. “I would ask how I could help.”

She hops up and down and clasps her hands together. “I want to do it. I really want to do it. And someone’s offering to back me. To get this building remodeled and ready to open up as a bakery. But it feels too good to be true, and I called you because…” She trails off, the smile falling from her face.

“It’s okay.” I know what she’s thinking. We talked about her opening a bakery, but always in the context of our future—together.

“Do you think it’s crazy? I don’t even know who the silent partner is. It’s anonymous. Though I have a pretty good idea.”

“You do?”

“I think so.” She shrugs as if it’s not important. “Is this crazy? Going into business with some anonymous partner? What if I totally screw it up? What if I fail?”

“I think anyone who’s going to make this kind of investment would know what he was investing in.” And whom he was investing in.

“Right. Market research and stuff, right?” She nods. “It’s hard to wrap my head around the chance to open this bakery, to run my own business in New Hope, to feed people the kind of food that brings comfort. I can’t even describe what it’s like to want something as much as I want this.”

“I think I have an idea,” I say, but the words catch on something in my throat and come out rough. Her eyes lock with mine and soften. “Hanna…”

“I miss you.” She squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t—”

“I miss you too.”

“You haven’t told anyone about the breakup, have you?”

“Only William.” As much as I believed it when I told her I wouldn’t pretend, the truth is that telling people we broke up makes it too real. It feels like giving up.

“Good.” She bites her lower lip, worries it between her teeth. “Will you promise me you won’t tell anyone else?”

I step forward and take her hand, graze my thumb over her knuckles. “If we’re going to let the world think we’re together until September, you need to understand something.”

“What’s that?”

“Every time we go to dinner at your mom’s, every time we hang out with our friends, I’ll be by your side. You’ll have to let me close if you’re determined to do this. They’ll know something’s wrong otherwise.”

She nods. “I know. It’s okay. It will be worth it.”

I take another step closer, trace her jaw with my fingertips, slide my hand into her hair. She tilts her head back. Parts her lips. “I’ll be using every moment of that time to win you back,” I warn. “And I’ll insist that you hold on to that ring until September. It might be pretend for you, but for me…” I dip my head until my lips are a breath away from hers. “For me, it will be a second chance.”

It doesn’t take much to close the distance between us, and when my lips touch hers, she sighs against my mouth. I want to kiss her hard and deep and long. What if I press her against the wall and remind her just how much passion there is between us? I could wrap her legs around my waist until she’s cradling my hard-on and forced to understand that there’s nothing pretend about my attraction to her.

But I keep it soft. Light. I let her take the lead and set the pace. She opens under me and slides her hand into my hair. When she arches her back and her br**sts press against my chest, I have to pull back and end the kiss before I ask for more than she’s willing to give.

She brings her fingertips to her mouth as she opens her eyes to look at me. “That was a mistake.”

“No,” I whisper against her mouth. “That was everything that’s good in the world. Meredith was the mistake.”

“Don’t confuse me, Max. This is hard enough.”

I brush my knuckles across her cheek, and all I can think is, Three months. I have three months to win her back.

Part Two: After

19

Hanna

Present Day

SHE ISN’T dead. She isn’t dead.

These are the words I’ve repeated to myself over and over again on the drive from the airport to the hospital. Lizzy was waiting for me at baggage claim when I got off the plane, her face sheet white. I could hardly register her words. Mom. Chest pain. Hospital.

We drove back to New Hope in silence, terror choking the words before they could slip past our lips.

What was there to say, anyway? Is this a nightmare? Will we lose Mom like we lost Dad?

“She’s down here,” Nix says when we step off the elevators and onto the second floor.

“Is she conscious? Is she in pain?” Lizzy asks. She was pulling into the parking garage at the airport when she got the call from Nix.

“She’s conscious and she’s in no immediate danger,” Nix says. “We did an EKG and are running some blood tests. We’ll keep her overnight for observation.” Her gaze drops to my na**d left hand.

“Ohmigod!” Liz squeaks. “Your ring, Han.”

My breath catches. “It’s in my suitcase.”

“It’s okay,” Nix says. “I think she has more important things to worry about than your jewelry. Come on.” She leads us into Mom’s room.

I’m not sure what I expected to see, but Mom doesn’t look like a woman who just suffered a heart attack. A little pale maybe, but otherwise she looks almost serene propped up in her hospital bed, flipping through a house and garden magazine.

She sees Nix first and greets her with a smile. Then Liz gets the same. But when she spots me, her smile falls away. “Where have you been, Hanna?” The disapproval on her face is the windshield and I am the bug. Story of my life.

“I… Well…” She just had a heart attack and she wants to talk about my spur-of-the-moment trip to LA?

“She had some business to take care of out of town,” Liz says. “How do you feel?”

Mom adjusts her hospital gown and straightens her necklace. She’s so vain; this is probably hell for her. “I’m embarrassed, mostly.” Again, she looks at me. As if I’m somehow the cause of her embarrassment. “I had no idea I was at risk for a heart attack. I’m a healthy weight. I eat right, exercise, never smoked a day in my life.”

“Some of heart health has less to do with your choices and more to do with your genetics,” Nix explains. “But let’s wait and see what the cardiac cath shows us in the morning.”

Mom waves away her explanation. “I’m fine now, just a little tired,” she assures us, fidgeting with her bracelets. Does the woman ever lose the accessories?

I nod and stare awkwardly at Mom, unsure what to do or say.

We were sixteen when Daddy died of a heart attack in our backyard. I found him—hand clutched to his chest, an ugly scowl on his face. I called 911. Attempted CPR. At the funeral several days later, Mom made a comment about my outfit not flattering my “unique shape,” and for a moment, I wished it had been her in the casket and not my father. It had been a fleeting thought, the ugly, angry sister of grief rearing her head when I was weak. I dismissed it a split second after I’d thought it. Of course I didn’t want that. All I wanted was for both of my parents to be healthy.

But I’ve never forgotten that moment. Those moments of weakness have a way of defining our relationships, and I’ve always felt guilty for wishing—even for a moment—that I could trade my mother’s life for my father’s.

Mom’s studying me, eyes narrow, calculating. “The timing couldn’t be worse. What with the wedding so close.” She drops her gaze to my hand—to my na**d ring finger. “There is still going to be a wedding, isn’t there, Hanna?”

Liz looks at me, and I blurt, “Of course!” because despite that horrible moment seven years ago, despite the weight of my grief for my father on the day we put him in the ground, I don’t want my mother to die. As much as I’d like to get the whole my engagement is over conversation out of the way, now is not the time. I don’t know what would happen if I told her the truth right now.