𝙓𝙇𝙑𝙄𝙄𝙄.
HURRICANE AMY

──────

I WAS CONVINCED that I'd be a goddamn awful housewife.

I couldn't cook, I complained about cleaning and every white laundry load I seemed to do would turn out at least slightly pink. It was safe to say that I really didn't consider myself marriage material...

My Mom, on the other hand, had been the ultimate housewife.

It must have been the most common thing I'd heard in my childhood: "Oh Bizzy, I don't know how you do it!"

 A frivolous laugh out of the lips of a Stepford wife as she glanced between the three of us. Archer, Addison, me. I'd always been dwarfed by my older siblings and sometimes people didn't even see me. They'd look at my mother, poised, smiling and bright-eyed, and praise her for whatever it was that she'd accomplished. 

Usually, it was some sort of brunch; it was always brunch with rich white people— I understood that more and more when I came to New York. She'd reply with a smile, the same one that we'd all inherited, closed lips, head tilt to the side: "It's easy when you've got children as well trained as mine."

And offhand laugh, a "Oh you're so hilarious Bizzy" and a couple of looks under the eyelashes.

If there was a thing I knew for sure about Bizzy is that she took her role as a wife very, very seriously... well, that was when other people were watching. She was who Addison seemed to inherit all of her fun little quirks from; a strict brunch regimen, a stiff upper lip when it came to being a hostess, a tendency to stew quietly when things didn't go her way.

I knew absolutely nothing about her other than the fact that she put up with my father's crap for a very long time, cared about her social status more than her own kids and had a tendency to throw money at problems to make them go away rather than to fix them.

I clearly had no idea what I'd inherited from her.

My father, on the other hand, had been a functioning alcoholic, who was completely dedicated to his career as a physician in his private clinic. He took his job very, very seriously and passed his worth ethic onto his children (among other things apparently). 

I knew absolutely nothing about him other than the fact that he pined after a woman who'd fallen out of love with him decades previously, had numerous affairs, cared about his car more than his kids and, also, liked to sink his problems with a wad of cash. The Captain refused to go down on any ship he crashed.

That's how I met Calum.

His father was a lawyer who specialised in fixing things when people couldn't do it himself. It wasn't legal and it wasn't right— but it was the perfect market for families like mine who had a little bit too much pride and money to deal with things the fair way.

Oh, faced with a lawsuit that will ruin you? Fixed.

Faced with a clinic that's going under and need some very questionable investors? Fixed.

Faced with a pregnancy you don't want on your medical record? Fixed, hey it's like it never happened.

It was a family business and it had enveloped Calum and torn apart our engagement like I'd been a toy tossed to his father's favourite Rottweiler. 

People like Calum and Dom could solve things too easily. 

Calum's dad had tried to fix my parents marriage but that hadn't been possible. 

It'd been beyond repair, something, not even my birth could fix.

When Dom phoned me, two days after I'd given him all of the shit I had on Petunia Vanderbilt (now Greenman) to tell me that it was handled (like some male iteration of Olivia Pope) I hadn't been surprised. Of course, it was handled, it was the sort of clean finish that he guaranteed. Calum was a good lawyer and so was Dom. 

They knew the law perfectly and, as a result, knew the loopholes that Shawn March had found and, sometimes, even made.

It wasn't honest but it got the job done.

"She won't be bothering you any time soon."

I was sat on the window ledge in my bathroom. Charlie was outside taking down the trash. I still hadn't told him about any of this. I pressed my hand to my cheek, listening to Dom as he reassured me that Petunia wasn't going to be throwing any more curveballs in my direction. 

My eyes crawled over the skyline outside the window.

"Thank you."

"It's what we're here for," He then went on to explain that he was already out of Seattle. Harper Avery was long past discharged and back wherever he'd come from. Dom had stayed just long enough to serve the papers to Petunia's family and then he'd disappeared back into the shadows.

I started picking at my cuticles again.

"If you need anything-- Calum wants you to call us."

I smiled faintly. "He's a good guy."

"He is." His agreement came easily. "We're the good guys, remember that."

I didn't reply to that.

"I need you to do something for me," I perked up at that. Out of all of the years I'd spent knowing Dom and Calum, they'd never asked me for anything in return. I shuffled, feeling uneasy at the thought of them needing something from me. "Keep an eye on Charlie, if anything happens with him as well-- call me or Andrew."

"Why?" I asked tenderly, my eyebrows bunching.

Dom took a while to answer. A long sigh filled the call.

"Just... if there's anything... let us know."

***

My second phone call came ten hours later.

I woke up to 5 missed calls and 20 text messages.

It was an angry buzzing that had almost sunk into my dreams perfectly. I was dreaming of my flight out of La Guardia and for a few moments, I thought that the nightmare had gotten worse. I woke with a start, finding arms wrapped around me and my covers constricting my legs. 

I blinked into the gloom and blinked over at my phone as it sat on the nightstand, it's screen lit up and shape shaking urgently.

"What's that?"

His voice was strained and tired as I shuffled beneath the sheets, peeling them off of my body. Hands still firmly around my waist, his eyes opened wearily as I glanced back at his shirtless form, his eyes just visible behind the dip of his pillow. 

Very slowly, I lifted a hand upwards and unlocked the grip he had around me, a slight soft smile flicking across my lips as he seemed to turn onto his side and peer up at me, across the double bed we shared.

"Someone's calling me—" 

I told him softly, my voice hushed and lowered so I wouldn't knock the fatigue from Charlie's muscles. His eyes were half open and I knew that he wouldn't understand what I was saying anyway. 

"Go back to sleep. I'll be back in a minute."

He let out a throaty groan and tossed in the sheets, settling back to sleep. I waited until his breathing shallowed and his snores filled the room. Then my eyes flickered to my phone, the device that was writhing about as if demanding me to answer. 

I squinted at the time on the top of my screen: It was 4 am.

The caller ID was unlisted, unknown. I sighed, sliding off of the mattress and grimacing when my toes met the very cold January-chilled bedroom floor. God— whoever it was they were pretty determined to get hold of me. In all honesty, this situation felt like the beginning of a horror movie.

It was still dark outside and would be for a couple of hours. I glanced towards the windows as I headed into the next room, tiptoeing across and leaving the door ajar behind me. I turned on the lamp by the dining table and started poured myself a glass of water. 

Throughout the two minutes, it took me to revisit my phone, I'd gained another missed call and three text messages. I was taking my time, figuring that it was nothing urgent as if it was the hospital they would have contacted my pager— it was still sat beside my purse, looking very quiet and sorry for itself.

Hey! It's Amelia.

Pick up.

It's Amy.

Pick up.

I stared at the text messages as they popped up on the screen, hand holding the glass and my mouth hanging open in surprise. Amy? 

Amy was phoning me at 4 am. 

Amy was bombarding my phone and somehow had gotten a hold of my phone number in the first place. 

As I went to answer, the phone fell silent, leading me to believe that she'd finally given up. I checked the time again to make sure that I wasn't going insane: no, it was definitely 4 am. The cynical voice at the back of my head told me that Amy was probably not in the right mind. I chewed the inside of my cheek and went to turn away—

Another text message buzzed against my palm: Pick up the fucking phone!!

And then Amy was calling me again.

I picked up.

"Do you know how hard you are to find?"

Hearing her talk down the line made me think of long nights in New York, the bottom of glasses and stumbling along alleyways in pitch-black darkness. She was smiling, I could hear it in her voice. I placed my glass of water on the table and squinted into the shadows towards the door of my apartment. It felt as though she was in the room, grinning at me in her crooked way. Derek's little sister didn't sound as if she'd just woken up as I had. 

No, she sounded as if she'd never been asleep.

"Hello to you too," I stated, my brow creasing when it really struck me how weird it was to get a phone call so early in the morning. A miffed laugh came down the line. I smiled at the sound. "I was wondering when you were going to pop up again."

"Y'know... I had to.... steal Addisons phone and copy your phone number off of it, right?" 

She sounded matter-of-fact and honestly, I'd actually completely forgotten that she was in California with my sister. It seemed like a reality show that was just waiting to go wrong. 

"Straight out of a spy movie or something-"

There was something that didn't settle right with me: the two of them settled out in LA, working in some Wellness clinic.

"You know me I've always been shaken not stirred..." I could almost hear Amy rolling her eyes at me. I wrapped my free arm around my midriff. "It's been a while, how are you doing?"

It suddenly occurred to me that maybe she wasn't on the West Coast anymore. That would make sense. When Charlie had been in Boston his text messages had been at awkward times like this— now he was in the other room trying to sleep through his jet lag. I couldn't think of any city Amy would be in. Of course, there was always New York, but it was empty now. 

It had served its purpose for all of us and none of us had the heart to go back to a city that was now an empty shell.

"Good," was her reply. It was breathy and slightly pitched. It also occurred to me that asking Amy that question was redundant. Good was her go-to answer. She was always Good and never Bad. "California's a bit shit though."

"What's my sister done now?"

As much as I wasn't in the mood for a conversation, hearing Amy's voice was refreshing. I hadn't spoken to her since New York and this was one reunion I wasn't too standoffish towards. I hadn't given her my phone number when I'd left. I'd figured that it was better to distance myself from her if I wanted to get clean. Luckily, it appeared as though she hadn't held a grudge.

"She's not in a good mood," I could imagine the look on Amy's face as she said it. "Apparently you're not answering your phone—"

I laughed. "I'm hoping she gets the message and gives up."

Refusing Addisons phone calls had become a little bit of a pastime for me now. She hadn't bothered to leave a message. Come to think of it, actually, she hadn't called in a couple of days before Amy phoned. Maybe she had gotten the message that I didn't want to talk to her. 

Actually no, I did want to talk to her— I wanted to yell at her and tell her to mind her own business and stop getting involved with Mark like some sick puppet master.

"Is that why you called?" I asked, my eyebrows raising as I sat down on the couch, wishing that I'd at least grabbed a blanket. "Have to say... did not expect you to be Addie's cheerleader-"

"Oh, I'm not." Amy was blunt and fast, causing me to chuckle. "I'm calling because I want out of California."

My lips turned downwards.

"Amy—"

"How's Toronto?" She'd been the only friend I'd entrusted with that knowledge; she'd been the only person who'd known where I was for all that time. My silence told me what she needed to know. "Ah shit well, how's Seattle? Addison mentioned that she saw you there? You still there or are you back in Indonesia?"

"Amy."

I knew why Addison hadn't given Amy my phone number and I honestly wasn't too mad about it. She hadn't told Amy that I was working in Seattle either. Archer hadn't said anything either. For the first time in a long time, I almost agreed with my sister's judgement. 

Amy might have been my best friend once upon a time but she'd also been an enabler, often too blurry-eyed to notice what I was doing. My long sigh, a heartbroken little sound, caused her to pause. It was dangerous to have Amy in Seattle and she knew that too.

"I know it was dumb for me to call—" Her voice broke slightly and then it dropped into a low drawl. "I thought that maybe you'd be able to help me. Give me money maybe... help me get a flight to somewhere like... I don't know—not to Indonesia or whatever—Derek won't do shit—"

It felt as though I was talking to a ghost. I gripped my phone tightly and leant back on the couch, wrapping my free arm around my legs and bristling at the cold air. I felt as though I was talking to myself five years ago. Suddenly, it became very clear to me that although I might have clawed my way out of that hole in the ground, I might have very well left Amelia Shepherd behind. 

She was breathing very heavily on the other end of the line, there was the faint sound of cars behind her. I could imagine her walking the streets of a city, coat drawn tightly against her and head bowed. The thought of walking alongside her as I had all those years ago made me feel sick.

I couldn't imagine the conversation she'd had with Addison when she'd come back from Seattle: Derek's good, yeah... Archer's not dead.. Oh, Mark's there too— and um, so's Beth.

I'd always been the nonchalant afterthought so I really didn't see how that had to change. I couldn't imagine the look on Amy's face as she realised that we'd all had some grand reunion in Seattle without her... but was it really the big event of the decade? I would have passed, personally, if I'd had the choice and Archer hadn't... you know... almost died. 

Derek had told me that he hadn't seen her since New York either. We'd both abandoned her and taken off in searches of a new life without her.

"Amy, I—" I licked my lips, everything feeling very dry. "I can't, I'm sorry."

I didn't know what to say to her. I couldn't give her money, Addison was still monitoring my account and I couldn't risk it. I also couldn't risk sending her money if she wasn't clean. I glanced over my shoulder towards Charlie's MacBook. 

It was sat on the table and hadn't been touched since he'd quit his job (well, other than to search for his new career path). Usually, he would've been working through the night.

"Y'know... the other day I was thinking to myself... Hey, I haven't changed my cell number in years," She sounded nonchalant as if she was talking through some sporadic thought that really cut my skin. "I'm literally calling you on the same cell number that I had in New York... I've had the same cell number since before iPhones were even fucking invented--"

"Amy--"

"So I thought, hey, why hasn't Beth called?" She let out an aggrieved laugh. I could picture her eyes welling and the dent appearing between her eyebrows. I just stared very shamefully at the floor. "I haven't heard from you for five years... that's a long time."

"I know," I said because I really did. My heart was beginning to tear. "I know, I'm so sorry--"

"Yeah," Amy cleared her throat. Another laugh. "I hear that a lot." Her voice was slightly muffled as if she was wiping her mouth with her sleeve. I listened to the filler noise of a busy California street. "You doing good?"

"Yeah," I sounded sad, "I uh-- I'm in Seattle."

"Marks there too, huh?"

"Yeah," I repeated.

"And you stayed?"

"It was a surprise to everyone, arguably, it surprised me the most."

My mind briefly reminded me that Mark had, a while ago, claimed that he'd cheated on me with Amy. The thought filled me with exhaustion and I willed it to go away. I leant forwards in the chair, elbows on my knees and hand pressed to my forehead. 

My eyelids felt heavy, but I forced myself to focus on her voice.

"Cool," Amy said, it was quick and curt, "I don't like it in California. Addison sucks."

"She does," I replied. "She sucks big time."

"I don't want to be here, Beth. I really really can't be here--"

I wondered whether this is how I'd sounded on the phone to Calum, trying to beg him to get me out of New York. Back then, I'd had my cell in one hand and a pregnancy test in the other. He'd helped me. 

But I couldn't help Amy-- my hands were tied by the same person she was trying to get away from.

"I know," My eyes wandered across my ceiling. "Maybe try your sisters? I'm sure they'd help out—"

"I can't be assed to go back to New York."

"That makes two of us."

I could feel the weight in her voice and I sighed, expelling air because if I held it in I'd just explode.

A brief pause.

"I'll talk to Derek," I'd try. I'd try for Amy because I owed her that much. She'd been a good friend despite everything that had happened. And besides, I'd had too many people giving me the benefit of the doubt. What hurt could it do to return the favour?

"He won't answer my calls." It felt a lot like how I was ignoring Addison's calls and I sucked in a breath. "You know what— I think I'm just going to—"

"Amy-"

A dial tone filled my ear.

She hung up.

I stared at the phone for a long moment, my mind struggling to process the very short, choppy conversation. It wasn't until my phone screen went dull that I found myself able to move. I got to my feet and very slowly rinsed my glass under the faucet, placing it on the draining board. I left my phone on the table and went back into the bedroom, gently slipped under the covers. 

I burrowed into Charlie's sleeping body and found myself consumed by the thought of Amy wandering around LA in the dead of night, phoning people she knew would never pick up.

We'd all left her behind and it was only a matter of time before she caught up.

***

NEW YORK

Addie and Derek were arguing.

They'd invited us to a family dinner in their new brownstone and they were arguing over a store-bought pie.

The four of us sat at a table that was set for five. Addison was stooped over the cutlery she'd 'lovingly' laden out and was talking quickly with a lot of hand gestures. Beside her, her husband was scowling off into the distance as if he was trying his best not to shout— meanwhile, Mark's hand was on my thigh and I was holding onto it tightly for dear life. 

I exchanged a look with him, our free hands holding our forks in a frozen middle ground between plate and mouth. A piece of broccoli fell very sadly and hit my plate with a dull and unceremonious splat. He looked as deeply disturbed as I did. 

I squeezed his hand harder.

To make up for my absence at the New Years Eve party, Addison invited me to dinner. Actually, she'd invited both me and Mark to dinner. Together.

I'd got ready at my apartment on my own, got the subway to their new home and spent the whole journey calling Mark's cell. He'd been on a shift so arrived separately, but knowing that he'd been so close yet so far had no relieved me in the slightest. 

It would have been so much better if Addison had invited us out to a restaurant, I'd been fully prepared to sit in Le Bernadin and schmooze over a wine menu for the whole evening, avoiding conversation completely— but no. This had felt like to be some home-cooked meal that felt like an ambush.

And it was, to a certain extent, but not necessarily for us.

Mark had finally picked up as I kicked the sidewalk outside their new house. I'd taken my time walking from the subway station and then, stood watching shapes move behind their drapes, I'd been crippled by a need to turn and run.

"How long are you going to be?" I'd sounded a lot more whiny and needy than I'd intended. He had just sounded exhausted.

"I'm going back to mine quickly," Then a chuckle. "Surely you can survive Hurricane Addison for thirty minutes?"

"Ha, you'd think," was my reply.

In reality, I had had a hard time believing that anyone had ever survived Addison and lived to tell the tale. Derek must have agreed. He'd opened the door to the apartment and I'd one look at his expression before deciding that I really shouldn't have accepted Addie's invitation. 

I felt my stomach twist and said to him very quietly: "It was a mistake coming tonight wasn't it."

He'd just shrugged but, ultimately, had been unable to hide his grimace.

It'd been the forecast for the dinner, a lot of sideways glances and questionable expressions. The moment I'd waltzed through the door of their new house, I'd been able to feel the tension. The Shepherd-Montgomery household was rife with tension, a thick feeling of discomfort and the constant paranoia that one stray movement would detonate an unspoken time bomb. 

I'd sat at the dinner table on my own, listening as Addison and Derek attempted to manoeuvre around each other in the kitchen, my brother-in-law constantly smiling a very strained and fake smile that I knew Addison forced upon him when it was time to host. When Mark had arrived, I'd beat all of them to the door. He'd been surprised to see me so suddenly, eyebrow lifting in concern.

It was the first family event we'd ever been to as a couple. There was little conversation during the meal. Apparently, Archer was unable to come, having gone home for the weekend, and no one really spoke of the empty chair at the bottom of the table. I'd half expected any of Derek's sisters to be in attendance, but Addie never seemed to invite any of them. 

Instead, it was just Addie and Derek and Mark and Beth, all quietly and uncomfortable and sat opposite each other like two sides of a canyon, fighting desperately to keep this evening upright.

It'd taken ten minutes for the cracks to start showing. Their argument was on the food, on how Derek had forgotten to defrost some store-bought dessert. My sister was full of scathing remarks, her lips tight and eyes stony. Derek just sounded miffed, as if he couldn't believe what was happening— Mark and I just avoided looking at either of them, tethering ourselves together and waiting for time to pass by. 

At some point, it became clear that the argument was about something other than a frozen pie. It happened subtly, a few scoffs from Derek and a few tense exhales from Addie. I found myself staring at a brussel sprout, wondering how the hell I'd thought that this was a good idea in the first place.

Eventually, the tension was interrupted by a phone call. We all were startled by it, our heads whipping around to stare at Derek's phone as it vibrated against the sideboard. He took it as his chance to escape. There was a squeal of wood against the floor, he slapped his napkin onto the table and huffed. 

Addison watched him leave, very slowly sinking back into the chair with a look of frustration lining her face. 

My eyes desperately flickered between the two of them; I silently used the bottle of wine at the foot of the table to refill Addie's glass. After a few moments of thought, I refilled Derek's as well for good measure.

I didn't know what to say. I'd never seen Addie and Derek argue like this before, and from the look on Mark's face, he hadn't either. 

The breath that Addie let out seemed to deflate her completely; she fell lower and lower, bringing her wine glass to her lips and staring holes into the door Derek left out of. She pressed her lips into a thin line and avoided us completely, instead opting to look very very interested in trying to see into the next room. 

We couldn't hear Derek's conversation but could hear the gentle sound of his feet against the floorboards. The whole situation was overwhelming, the silence pressed against my every pore and I fought to open my mouth, feeling the need to say something.

"I like the house."

Mark's grasp on my leg tightened as if to say not now, but it was too late. 

Addison's eyes flew to mine and she blinked at me. It was as if she'd forgotten that we were there, two shell-shocked faces looking very tenderly over at them. 

I watched as Addison pieced herself back together. In front of my eyes, she pushed aside everything that had happened; she straightened in her chair, pushed up her chin and smiled as if nothing had happened. I laced Mark's fingers with mine and chewed on the inside of my cheek.

"Yes," Her voice caught at the back of her throat. It was a hoarse and unsettling sound. "We were lucky to find it... the realtor said that an old, uh, old painter used to live here. The basement is full of old canvases and oil paints— I've been meaning to clear it out."

Again, I didn't really know how to participate in a conversation so I just nodded. "Cool."

Mark was gazing at the profile of my face, watching as I twitched in discomfort. His thumb rubbed circles into my skin to keep me mellowed out. I caught his eye and smiled weakly, deciding that the next time Addie invited us for dinner we'd just lie and say that we were on shift. Mark looked as though he'd had it worse than me today. 

Ever so often he'd have to stifle a yawn with the back of his palm and shift in his chair. He'd been working a lot of hours at the hospital, juggling his research project and his duties as an attending. We didn't like to talk about it, it was church and state whenever we were together, work wasn't our personal lives. However, that didn't stop Newman for telling me every single thing that Mark did. It wasn't in a casual way either, it was in an exasperated way as if he couldn't believe why people liked him.

Just this week, Mark had gotten his first major breakthrough and he was proud of it— he'd actually told me that. We'd planned to get a celebratory meal, maybe order some takeout or go to the bar that Mark liked, but then Addie had scheduled this dinner on the only night that both of us were free. 

We were united in our reluctance to be here, Mark admitting that he'd rather be in my apartment eating some dirt cheap ramen and watching Top Gun (which I'd very quickly discovered was his favourite movie). I'd just smiled sadly.

Mark's breakthrough didn't come up in conversation. In fact, neither Derek nor Addie seemed to know.

"That was the Chief," Derek appeared in the room before Addison had finished her glass of wine. She regarded him with wary eyes, energy getting pulled out of her once again. "The board have decided to let George Reinke go— they're forcing his letter of resignation and he's going to be gone as of tomorrow morning."

"Oh," said Addison. Her brow furrowed as if she was disturbed by it. "That's sad."

The tension made a reappearance as Derek scoffed, dropping down into his chair and shaking his head. Neither Mark or I knew what the hell was going on. Neither of us knew who George Reinke was or why he'd been dismissed, why it was sad or why it wasn't. We just sat in limbo, feeling the evening rumble and tear into pieces.

"It's not sad," he said, "It had to be done."

His wife didn't reply, instead, taking a large mouthful of wine and turning her attention back to her plate. I found myself glancing at the placemat at the end of the table. It was an empty seat but had been set out with care. The overcast lighting glimmered off of the empty wine glass, causing my brow to furrow. 

Mark followed my gaze, not having noticed it before. He tentatively tilted his head to the seat at the head of the table.

"Who didn't show?"

Derek glanced at it, exhaling lightly, "Amy."

"Amy?" I repeated, looking between the married couple. "You heard from Amy?"

He nodded.

"She's back on the grid. Apparently she's been running around Upstate for the last few months and thought it was a good time to come back to the city."

Derek didn't sound concerned and Addison was looking at her plate, jaw clenched and head a million miles away.

I stared at Derek as he spoke. She hadn't been off the grid with everyone. I doubted that I'd ever tell Derek that that was all a lie, that his sister had been in fact been in Brooklyn this whole time, couch surfing around and getting day drunk. I took a large mouthful of wine as I recounted how a few weeks ago Amy had actually roughed it on my couch for a few days. I made the mental note to make sure that Derek would never find out: I knew him well enough to know what Amy would have ended up institutionalised again before she even made it to the brownstone. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mark look at me fleetingly as if he was sharing my thoughts. He was the only one who knew that I was talking to Amy, trying to help her gather her wits in the city. He just inclined his head and stared at the wine bottle thoughtfully.

"Is she doing okay?" I asked tenderly, wondering if this was what they'd been arguing about the whole time.

Amy was the taboo dinner table topic, the part of Addie's life that she didn't like to think about. She resurfaced to shoot Derek a look. He ignored it and just shrugged. 

That caught me off-guard. What happened to the doting brother who was constantly fighting to get her into a rehab clinic? The brother closely following her every move?

This evening didn't feel right. It felt as though we were stuck in an alternative universe. One in which Derek lost the capacity to care, one in which Addie argued and Mark was completely speechless.

"I don't know why we were even surprised," Addison said. She held her glass tightly, her knuckles almost white from the strain. "I don't even know why we bothered inviting her— Amy never turns up to these things anyway— god forbid a housewarming dinner."

"She's my sister, Addison."

We all noticed how Derek seemed to tense very slightly. 

My sister looked over at her husband and just let out a breathy sigh. She got to her feet, chair making a loud banging noise. She took her glass with her, turning on her heel and leaving for the kitchen. 

The door closed loudly behind her and Mark and I just had to watch as Derek rubbed a tired hand over his face. He relaxed when she was out of the room. Instead of avoiding us, he met our eyes and tiredly pressed his lips together. 

After a few moments of silence, he let out a miffed laugh, shaking his head.

"Amy said she'd turn up," He sounded sad, "Addie's mad because I believed her."

"She'll turn up, Derek," I said softly, wanting to reach and squeeze his hand. To do that I would've had to let go of Mark and I really didn't want to do that. "If not tonight... some other time."

He snorted. "I'm beginning to believe Addie."

"You don't want to do that," Mark said.

"I know," Derek sighed. "I really don't want to do that."

He didn't. I could tell from the look on his face. This wasn't an alternative universe anymore. Derek did really care. He was caring so much that he was arguing with his wife over dinner about it.

"I haven't heard from her for..." Derek let out a very heavy breath, "Year and a half? I've spent the last year thinking that my sister's probably dead in a ditch somewhere. That she's high and drunk somewhere, constantly putting herself in danger and refusing any of my calls—" He paused. "I want her to turn up. I want her to be okay."

"I'm sure she's okay," I said. 

I knew she wasn't dead in a ditch. I knew that she wasn't putting herself in danger knowingly. I'd spoken to her two days ago. She wasn't refusing my calls. Amy was going to turn up. I'd talk to her about it. 

Mark gauged a little rawness in my tone and looked over at me. I knew what his gaze said, it said: tell Derek that she's okay, tell him that you've been talking to Amy this whole time. But I kept my lips shut.

Derek nodded thoughtfully. "I hope so." But then he seemed to looked between the two of us, something blooming in his eyes. "How are you guys? This is the first time I've seen you... together."

"We're good," I answered, smiling brightly.

We were good. I gazed over at Mark and his lips twitched at the look on my face.

"We are." He agreed, eyes round and sparkling. He didn't take his eyes off of me and I felt my cheeks warm.

"Good," Derek said. He looked at Mark longer than he looked at me. He seemed to say something with his eyes. He sounded breathless and tired and not at all in the right mindset to host a family dinner. He heaved a breath. "Good."

We could hear Addison in the kitchen, she was opening cupboards and draws. She sounded busy. Ever so often, Derek was glance over at the kitchen door, as if he could see right through the wood. I watched the tension in his face. It was too weird to be caught in an argument between them. 

They weren't the sort of couple that fought, but, I supposed that there was a first time for everything. In the background of Mark's light conversation with Derek (they discussed sports and some construction work downtown), I could hear Addie's heels on the tile. She was stomping a bit, like a toddler that couldn't handle their temper.

It was bizarre really. Retreating into the kitchen had been something our Mom had done. She'd existed more inside the kitchen with an apron on than anywhere else, as if she was constantly trapped in some 1950's housewife fantasy that she was only comfortable with. It reminded me of how my mother had always been a housewife first and a Mom second. 

I hoped that Addison wasn't following her lead, I definitely didn't ever on intend doing the same.

"I was thinking about that the other day—" Derek had loosened up in his conversation with Mark. The two of them were chuckling, exchanging quips and smiles. I grinned at the comfortable ambience, feeling my chest soften and my shoulders fall. "I was telling my secretary that we should maybe think about getting some new computers for the ICU—"

He was cut short. The doorbell echoed around the house, reverbing off of the plain walls and the furniture no one had yet unpacked. We all listened to the sound of Addison leaving the kitchen and walking towards the front door. 

The conversation was cut short, the belief was suspended. Derek suddenly looked uncomfortable again, anxious and cautious— he rose in his chair, fighting to listen for the sound of the front door opening. We all waited. 

We couldn't hear any greetings, but we did hear the sound of footsteps approaching. I looked over at Mark, confused and tense. The door opened and Addison entered first. She took her place at the dinner table and we all stared at the woman in the doorway.

Amy.

She looked at us, her eyebrows raising when she realised that we were all staring. She looked good. She looked clean. She was grasping a bottle of Prosecco in her hand. She'd recently showered. Her eyes glimmered with amusement and she cracked a smile.

"What?" She sounded bewildered. She hadn't expected such a reception.

"Amelia," Derek's voice cracked a little bit. "It's good to see you."

The light in her eyes dampened a little bit when she heard him speak. I tensed, expecting the tension to return— but it didn't. To my surprise, to everyone's surprise, Amelia Shepherd just nodded, grinning at her big brother.

"It's good to see you too, Derek."

I looked around the room, trying to gauge what was happening-- but the only person who met my eye was Mark. He shared my look of bewilderment.

If Addison was a storm, Amy was a hurricane.

***

SEATTLE

I woke up to another 5 missed calls.

Another hasty awakening 24 hours after the first call. I woke with a start, my eyes instantly flying to my cell phone. There were a few moments of disbelief, the shaky foundations of a mind that was not quite awake-- but then I checked the caller ID. 

Sure enough, Amy's name stared right back at me.

I answered her quicker this time.

Before I even had a chance to speak or greet her, she bombarded me with a request: "Tell me about Seattle."

"Amy- it's 4 am-"

"I know," There was the sound of passing traffic in the background again. I began to wonder whether Amy even slept. There was a brief pause. "I just want to know about Seattle. Everyone's there but me, yeah? I want to know what I'm missing."

I stood in my kitchen. Wearily, I glanced over my shoulder, back towards the bedroom door. I kept my voice low to avoid waking Charlie. 

I held my cell phone to my ear and held my breath, silently processing her request. It was definitely a weird time to have consecutive calls. Did she even realise that she'd called me at 4 am both times? Was this some sort of premeditated plan? I couldn't tell. 

Hardly anything with Amy was ever premeditated.

It was still dark outside. My shift started in five hours. I was in my pyjamas and still had wet hair from my shower the night before. Amy paused to let me mull it over. It was a demand rather than a request. It felt like she was one of the passengers on the Titanic, demanding a life ring as she was swept into the icy sea. That thought didn't settle well with me. 

I could hear the motive in her voice: Distract me, give me a distraction.

A reluctant breath escaped my lips.

"What do you want to know?"

She sounded delighted. "I don't know..." I could imagine her choppy shrug. "Anything that you think I should know about... I'm going to live vicariously through you and it's going to be fun."

"Right, okay," I didn't know whether it would be fun, especially so early in the morning, but I was going to try my best. "Well, I'm working at the same hospital as Derek... uh, I'm in the psychiatry department and I do a lot of appointments and consultations. I have my own office, which is cool. I also have an apartment over the road from the hospital. It's really nice actually, nicer than my old one in New York. I'm actually thinking about painting one of the walls-- my landlord told me that I'm free to go over the wallpaper--"

"Huh," Amy sounded amused by the trivialness of my life now. "Sounds cute."

I paused. It sounded boring, it didn't sound cute and I knew that she agreed with me. I knew her tones and afflictions a little too well. Her huh wasn't an 'aww' it was a huh. 

It was a huff in which she realised that I'd become fixated on little domestic things that didn't fulfil her lifestyle. I kissed my teeth and gingerly sat on my couch.

"Obviously, you know that Derek's here," I continued as if nothing had happened. 

I told her about Richard Webber and how now Derek was the Chief of Surgery. I did, however, withhold the information about Webber's alcoholism and the fact that Derek had kicked him out into the street for his own benefit. That wasn't a distraction, it was an argument. 

"And... Derek got married to his girlfriend."

"Yeah," Amy said. It sounded bitter but it was only briefly. She laughed at the thought of her brother married yet again. "I've been thinking about sending them a wedding gift... what do you think? I haven't been able to narrow it down yet but I was thinking... uh, a blender or something? Maybe a toaster? A panini press? Isn't that the sort of stuff that people receive when they get married..."

I chuckled. "I think so..." I felt a lump at the back of my throat. "Hey, Amy?"

"Yeah?"

"I met someone."

"You did?"

"Yeah," I glanced over my shoulder towards the door. "His name is Charlie... I really like him." I licked my lips and sighed. "I, uh, I actually proposed to him."

The line filled with Amy's surprise.

"You proposed?" She was the first person I'd actually told about my engagement. I felt my cheeks heat and a small smile appear on my face. I replied with a very small 'uh-huh'. "Well... damn, congrats... send me an invite won't you? I'd love to meet the poor sucker."

It was a weird thought, to have Charlie and Amy in the same space. It was the same as it had been with Addison, with Derek and Mark. They were people who all existed in separate spaces in my head. 

To introduce Charlie to Amy felt the same as getting naked and baring my heart on a platter. It was weird: the thought of it caused chills to run down my body but I just hummed. It didn't help that the thought of a wedding in itself was enough to break me out into hives.

"That's crazy," Amy said, after a long pause. She sounded as if she genuinely couldn't imagine it. Her words made my heart beat a little too wildly against my ribs. "Elizabeth Montgomery engaged? Honestly, I thought that I would never see the day..."

"Neither had I," I admitted, my voice small. No one had been more surprised at my engagement than I had-- well, maybe Charlie was a little bit more surprised.

"I've said it once and I'll say it again... Calum was an asshole." Her words made me laugh. "So was Mark too-- you have a type that I've never been able to understand."

"I do not have a type."

"Oh you do," Amy persisted, amused. "I could have told you that you'd end up with Mark before you'd even met him."

Was I predictable? Sometimes I couldn't tell. 

My denial was making Amy chuckle and it could only make me self reflect. Historically, I'd had a shit time with dating. Throughout my teens and twenties, I'd always found a way for going after the stressful ones, for the dysfunctional Playboys that couldn't handle themselves despite their love lives. 

I did have a type, Amy was right. 

They'd all been the same: gorgeous, emotionally unavailable and 100% likely to leave me heartbroken.

"Yeah," I grimaced at my track record and then, once again, glanced back at the bedroom. "But Charlie's... he's different... This sounds shit but he's everything I needed Mark to be in the end. He's... kind.. he's understanding and he's just... he's normal and functioning... and really good in bed-"

"Okay, okay," Amy cut me short. "If you're happy I'm happy, okay?"

"Okay."

"It's just... weird, y'know?"

My brow furrowed. "How so?"

"Mark was an asshole," every time Amy said his name I felt unsettled. My eyes glued to the wall that I shared with him and it was as if she was bringing him into the room. "But you guys were... so fucking in love? It was disgusting... like some sort of movie..." My chest tightened. "He was an asshole but... you were... like the only functioning couple. We all knew that Addie and Derek didn't stand a chance at the end."

"We weren't functional," I denied. Maybe it had appeared that way but it hadn't felt like it. "And I've been convinced for a long time that Mark didn't love me, so-"

Amy snorted. "Sure."

That topic seemed to be coming up a lot lately. Lexie had raised it first. Mark loving me, Mark caring for me-- it was an abstract concept. 

People didn't hurt the ones they loved. Or maybe they did and my childhood had been the best thing that I could have experienced, right? It didn't settle right with me. Over the last decade, it'd gotten to the point where, to stop myself from hurting, I'd had to believe that it was out of the question.

"It's weird," Amy repeated, "And before you... accuse me of being Mark's cheerleader... I'm not. He was an asshole and you're better off without him. I'm just... weirded out by the thought that you're not together."

"Really?" I wasn't too impressed.

"Yeah--"

"What did you think?" I was a little too unsettled by the conversation topic. This was the last thing that I needed to talk about. "That I'd just... forgive Mark for leaving me for my sister? That we'd end up back together? That I'd forget about everything?"

"I don't know," Again, I could imagine her shrugging. "You're Mark and Beth." She said it matter-of-factly and that made my heart thrum wildly in my chest. I massaged my forehead. "You always ended up back together no matter what."

I covered my discomfort with a laugh.

"When did you become a hopeless romantic?"

Amy sighed, her voice more vulnerable than I'd expected.

"I guess I'm just nostalgic."

***

NEW YORK

I opened my door, frowning when I saw the face on the other side.

Amelia was stood on my doormat, holding up two bottles of vodka, a smile drawn from ear to ear. She was all dressed up, high heels, heavy eye makeup and a devilish gleam in her eye. My mouth opened and then closed. 

I, on the hand, didn't look all dressed up at all. I was in pyjama shorts, makeup-free and extremely drained from a double shift that I'd just pulled.

I took a second glance at the bottles she was holding and shook my head: "No."

"Why?" She looked bewildered. "It's Friday."

Why? Oh, I could give her a thousand different answers.

I'd literally only just got in from my second shift at Manhattan Gen. I was a week into my new job, having been given the placement in the hospital's clinic on the spot. Apparently, I'd been a prime candidate, but now I was hauling my ass not only back and forth to work but all over the city too. I was exhausted. I just wanted to lie down for a split second, maybe just rest my eyes— I'd already taken to relying on coffee to keep me awake and going.

All I could think about was getting into bed and covering myself with a comforter and staying there for the next ten hours until my next shift started. I just leant against the doorframe and sighed.

"I have work tomorrow."

Amy blinked at me. "And? So do I."

"Amy." She leaned forwards, raising an eyebrow expectantly. She was waiting for me to say something convincing.

"C'mon," Amy held the bottle in her right hand to me, eyes pleading. "I haven't seen you in like... a week. Are you really going to make me drink alone?"

"I—"

My grip on the door got tighter and I just sighed, staring at Amy with a very reluctant feeling in my bones. The longer she stared at me, the more I felt guilty for abandoning her while I worked double, sometimes even triple shifts. I wanted to tell her that I working myself to the bone, but I just decided to grit my teeth and bare it. 

After all— would it hurt for just one night?

I gave in. "Fine, but I'm not leaving this apartment."

"Very respectable of you," She nodded, but her eyes were glittering in a way that made me want to roll my eyes. 

To add insult to injury, Amy handed me the bottle of vodka. I stepped back, letting her waltz into my apartment. At this point, she'd almost been here more often than Mark. I followed her into my living room, watching as she dumped her bag on the back of an armchair; Amy seemed to look around as if expecting Mark to appear out of thin air. 

"Hey, Mark!"

When he didn't reply, she turned to me. I just rolled my eyes.

"He's not here."

"It's just so wild that you guys are—"

"Dating?" I supplied, placing the bottle of vodka onto my dining table. It wasn't a very flattering table piece.

"Yeah," She waved a hand, sitting down, "It's weird, Mark hasn't ever dated— well, I mean he dated Petunia guess but that was all really weird, wasn't it?" I watched as Amy paused. "I guess what I'm trying to say is—" Amy seemed to think through what she was about to say but then stopped. "Never mind."

"Okay," I said tenderly, "Well, we're doing good so... I'm optimistic that he's enjoying dating me."

"Good." Amy seemed antsy and that was that. She lingered in my living room, wiping her hands on her pants. "I heard about your new job at Manhatten General, by the way. I thought that we should celebrate."

"Celebrate?" 

I didn't like Amy's idea of celebrating. Her idea of celebrating New Year's Eve all of those years ago had put me in Addie's bad book for a long time. I eyed her suspiciously as she asked me to get the shot glasses from the kitchen cabinet.

"Yes!" She exclaimed. "We're going to celebrate."

Her energy didn't match a girls night.

Imagine my surprise when I ended up in a nightclub with a very intoxicated Amy.

Amelia Shepherd was drunk.

I hadn't realised how drunk she was until she was drunk. She waved her arms madly to the music, jumping from one foot to the other. I followed suit, elbows knocking into those around us. A crazed smile exploded across her face and she pulled me closer to her, the two of us dancing wildly and with reckless abandon. 

I smelt the alcohol on her breath but didn't give it a second thought— I was as drunk or, possibly, even more intoxicated than she was.

I blinked repeatedly, only being able to see the bright vivid lights around us. For a moment, I was silent, a solemn figure in the pulsating crowds. All until I suddenly looked up towards the DJ and a dizzy smile exploded across my face. My movements were jagged, my footfalls were clumsy in my trusty-old, high heels. I was slurring a lot, giggling with high-pitched, scratchy breaths, acting as though I was completely blackout drunk.

Well, I was.

I'd started going out with Amy and her friends every Friday, hitting some nightclubs on the weekend and trying to embrace the early college lifestyle that I'd thrown to the wind because of my education. But I hadn't done it in a while. It'd started with drinks at Amy's housesit in Brooklyn and then progressed to a few of the clubs that she'd frequented last year. We were currently dancing through the exact same nightclub that we'd been to last year, the same one where Derek had hosted his ambush of Amelia Shepherd. 

She was holding my arm and pulling me in the direction of the bar, I couldn't hear what she was saying but drunk me was very efficient at reading lips ("Drinks!" Amy said with enthusiasm, although there was a lot of slurring involved.) I'd lost count of how much I'd drank and honestly, I hadn't been this drunk in a long time.

I was on top of the world. I was living. I could feel the music in every vein in my body, feel every beat slap me in the face and rouse my senses.

"Shit Amy—" One of her friends surveyed the state of me as we leant against the bar. "I'm surprised she's still standing."

She let out a very loud giggle, swinging her head around to shake my shoulder. I'd recently discovered that I was a reasonably well functioning drunk; I managed to order bottle service, waving my credit card in the direction of the bartender. 

It was gone in the blink of an eye and I found myself wandering back to the table Amy has reserved, rejoining the group that I'd very gradually become part of.

"To my new job!" I exclaimed, clinking my glass against flutes owned by blurry faces. 

I swelled in the congratulations I received. Amy looked as if she was going to burst, grabbing my shoulder again and shaking it vigorously. I'd ordered wine, it was warm at the back of my throat and reminded me of the sort of stuff my sister would order in restaurants. Somehow it was nicer when I blackout drunk.

Most of the people at the table didn't know my name and I couldn't remember theirs. We were all partying for the sake of partying, I was sure that most of them didn't know about my new surgical internship or the fact that I had a reason to celebrate in the first place. 

Amy was the only one who knew, she kept meeting my eye and toasting to me, fawning over the guy next to her and swaying in her seat.

"She did it," She kept saying. "She fucking did it!"

It felt like a stupid thing to celebrate, but Amy was the sort of person who celebrated everything and anything. She took every little achievement as an excuse to get glammed up and out. She hung onto my arm and cheered. 

At this point, I was sure that neither of us even remembered what it was that we were celebrating-- we just knew that we had a reason to party so we did.

"What did I do?" I asked, the room spinning around me.

"I can't remember?"

Amy wasn't very clean for a recovered addict. I couldn't remember why I hadn't stopped her. She kept doing shots. She kept disappearing into little corners with shady looking people. 

She kept making out with creepy looking guys who were a little too handy. I also couldn't remember what it was that I had to do tomorrow-- I found myself dancing and laughing and smiling and ignoring my cell phone as it buzzed against my thigh.

There was something addictive about it.

I hadn't made a good group of friends since high school. I didn't really have friends in New York. I had the people I worked with, my family (extending to Amy and Derek) and I had Mark. I could count every person that I genuinely considered my friends on one hand. And yet here I was, celebrating the tiniest achievement with strangers. 

They all congratulated me with enthusiasm and what I took to genuine happiness for me-- drunk people were nice, I realised. This friend group was nice.

Amy danced with me. Her friends were friendly and nice. Amy was genuinely happy to see me. Everything was so genuine-- people complimented me on my dress and on the fact that I was able to withstand so much. I didn't remember what happened the morning after, but I definitely remembered the joy I'd felt.

That was when I began to get addicted to the feeling of being seen.

Mark phoned me when I left the club and I'd cried about it. I'd been a mess of mascara and snot in the back of a taxi cab. I'd told him that I might actually have friends and that Amy was being so good to me for bringing me into her friend group. I told him that I didn't feel invisible. Drunk me had seen it as charity. Mark, on the other hand, had been cautious. 

He'd never liked Amy that much, I could tell that he just considered her as trouble, but even so, he'd humoured me.

I'd briefly recalled the concern and the softness in his voice. It was a vulnerability that had made my heart skip a beat.

"Remember, Beth," I'd only been able to vaguely remember. "You're not alone-- you have me. You're not invisible, you've never been invisible... I see you."

***

SEATTLE

Once upon a time, Amy had been a good and true friend to me.

Maybe that's why I answered her calls. She called me three nights consecutively, each time at dumb times in the morning. On the third night, it didn't startle me as much as the other's had. I quietly got out of bed, shrugged on a jumper and made myself a coffee. 

Our last conversation had been long, so long that I'd had to have three coffees to get myself out of bed. I'd told her about Seattle and Indonesia and how I'd met Charlie.

I turned on the lamp and bundled myself with blankets, setting my feet up on the couch and checking through the post that I'd yet to sort through. 

I didn't receive many letters so a majority of them were for Charlie. He'd relisted all of his addresses as soon as I'd told him that he was free to move in with me. 

I barely glanced at the return addresses on each envelope, but one caught my eye--

Back Bay Substance Abuse Centre.

"Beth?"

Amy had been talking about her day, telling me about her work but my prolonged pause in answering had made her falter. I stared at the letter in my hand, the words burning into my eyelids as I blinked through my glasses. 

My mind was shuddering to a stop. 

I felt my lips go numb.

"Yeah?"

My reply was noticeably unsettled, my voice caught at the back of my throat. My skin crawled and my throat itched. 

I shoved the letter away from me, down underneath the other mail-- Charlie's other letters were all from Boston, all mail redirected from Charlie and his apartment. Some of them were from clinics that he'd worked at-- but I'd been to this one, I knew this one in and out.

It wasn't just any clinic. It was the one I'd attended while in Boston. It was heavy-duty. It was unlike any rehab I'd ever been to.

"You good?"

My reply took a while. "Yeah, sorry-- I just--I--- I thought I left my stove on."

"I was saying that I'm happy that you're picking up my calls."

My attention drifted from the letters on the table and I felt myself getting stuck on her words. I smiled, warmth filling me. 

My heart swelled and I realised this was exactly why I'd been answering her calls-- Amy had been my person for such a long period of my life. 

Despite everything, I'd missed her.

"I'm happy that you keep calling." 

I was. It was nice to hear her voice. I'd dragged myself through the dread and the reluctance and come into a sense of relief. Amy didn't hate me for leaving her behind, instead, she seemed to understand. It was the sort of understanding that I could have never gotten from her brother.

"I also wanted to say that I'm sorry," I gnawed on my bottom lip as I registered what she said. "I don't know what for, but I know that you needed to leave New York and I really didn't help with everything."

As quickly as my heart had swelled, it broke.

"I'm sorry for abandoning you."

"No, I get it." She let out a long breath. "I'm a liability sometimes-- you wouldn't have gotten clean with me in the picture. But I do appreciate the apology, though." Amy seemed to pause, letting the sound of passing traffic swell around her. "I've missed talking to you."

The youngest Shepherd sister had reminded me of Mark in many ways. She'd struggled to express her emotions, always two seconds away from taking an opioid instead of addressing what happened in her head. 

So, to hear her say those words made me realise how much I missed her too.

As I said, despite all her flaws, Amelia had always been my favourite Shepherd.

"I missed you too."

I heard the sound of a door opening behind me and twisted in my seat, alarmed to see Charlie's tired face as it appeared behind the bedroom door. He raised his hand up, blinking at the sudden light from the lamp beside me. I threw a very wary glance to the letters beside me but managed to compose a look of concern and guilt on my face. 

I pressed my cell phone to my chest.

"Did I wake you?" I did feel bad despite how my head spun at the sight of him.

"Don't worry about it," He yawned and padded across the apartment, towards the refrigerator. I watched as he poured himself some orange juice. 

Charlie glanced at me, watching as I kept my eyes trained on him. I felt like some sort of meerkat, raised up the back of the couch. I very briefly apologised to Amy, saying that I'd be a few seconds. He cocked an eyebrow as he stood in front of me. I pouted up at him. 

"Whose that?"

"Derek's sister," Charlie must have been the only person who wasn't surprised. He nodded, leaning against the back of the couch. "We've been chatting-- sorry about waking you."

"Nah, it's okay," He dismissed, fondly tousling my hair. "I've been sleeping too much anyway... it'll be nice to get over this jetlag."

I smiled at him, but the expression was slightly withheld. He didn't notice, however, instead just turning around, leaving me to return to my call.

"Sorry, I woke up Charlie."

Amy sounded excited. "Oh, can I say hi?"

"Sure," I said, amused. "Babe-- Amy wants to say hi."

Charlie turned on his heel, eyebrows raising once again. He put down his glass and accepted the phone that I stretched out to him. I couldn't hear what Amy said to him but it seemed to bemuse him. He met my eye, dropping down on the couch beside me and squeezing my knee. 

I leant into him, resting my head on his shoulder-- but then my eyes strayed to the messy stack of mail on the table.

Back Bay. Why the hell did he had a letter from Back Bay?

"...It's nice to meet you," Charlie was smiling at me, "No, I'm not a creep, I promise." I chuckled, shaking my head. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had to introduce a guy to her. "Oh, she does?" His eyes bounced to me. "Yeah, I know-- she stole my thunder with the proposal... Thank you..."

I studied his face. It was so familiar to me. So soft and approachable, so handsome and kind. I absently trailed a hand down his jaw, chuckling when he scrunched up his nose, still focused on his phone conversation. 

His scruff bristled my palm, his breathy laugh tickling my wrist.

"I'll tell her... Yeah, thanks--"

He held the phone out to me.

"Wanna say goodnight?"

I searched his eyes. I searched his eyes for the sort of guy that would need to go to a place like the Back Bay Substance Abuse Centre. I couldn't find one. Just my Charlie, my fiance and the only person in the world that seemed to see me.

I took it from him.

"Speak to you soon, Amy."

"I like him," was all she said. "Good catch."