I gripped the wheel tighter and sat up straight. Every few moments, my eyes would leave the road, only for a split second, to check if she was in fact there, right next to me in the passenger seat. When she'd first spotted the silver Lexus logo on the hood, she'd crossed her arms over her chest, raising her eyebrows at the sight of the shiny exterior. Something in me had wanted to make excuses — it was a lease, after all, and at least, it was electrically powered. Only I refused to let her have the same effect on me her mother used to have. The thought of her viewing me in that same light was too much to bear.

Seemed like I had to find a way to not collapse under the weight of it anyway. She hadn't said a word since, other than the occasional soft comments on what had changed in the neighborhood. Funnily enough, she pointed out things I'd long forgotten about: the gigantic oak tree in Mr. Tanner's front yard that was now reduced to a sad stump, the house on the corner that used to be a bright blue and was now painted a dull white, the primary school nearby that had revamped its playground... There was no way for me to gauge her reaction to it, if she cared or not.

She sat facing the window, her elbow leaning on the door panel, head in her hands, hair blocking her expression from view. Her left hand lay restless on her knee, fingers constantly stretching so tightly they bent backward every now and then — why did I forget they did that? It told me she wasn't at ease, and any second, I expected her to ask me to turn around and bring her back to the airport.

The silence was killing me. We used to be good at not talking, but not like this. Not like I was here and she was in New York, even though she wasn't. If she didn't come here to reconnect, what was her intention? I opened my mouth, ready to break this nerve-racking tension — and closed it again. What could I say? I was a grown-ass lawyer, for god's sake, and I couldn't even speak to a girl I'd once been friends with? "So..." I said, and judging by her slight jump, I startled her, again. "Any ideas for dinner?"

She shrugged, directing her attention to me. "Maybe something Asian. Haven't had that in a while. Valentina claims the texture of rice makes her puke, and David has—" In the middle of the sentence, she stopped, throwing me a stealthy glance, like she wasn't sure why she was telling me this. "... David has a noodles trauma. He swears he once witnessed someone dying after choking on a noodle. Refuses to eat it."

There'd been a load of nerves swiveling through my stomach ever since it'd fully dawned on me she was real, and now, they became too much. I laughed, way too loud for the situation.

"It's not funny. A guy died." However, she seemed to have trouble suppressing a slight smile as well, hiding her mouth behind her hand. "Okay, maybe it's a little bit funny." She concentrated on the outside world again, inspecting the rows of houses obscured by towering gates. "For how many will we be cooking?"

"Hm? Sam's not gonna be home for at least five days."

"I meant Charlotte." The words came out strained, difficult to grasp, like it was taking her a lot of effort to get that name out.

I frowned. Charlotte? Why the hell would she think Charlotte was going to be here? Had she somehow gotten wind of the arrangement I'd made with her? How? For the first time since I'd agreed to it, I regretted saying yes — June would never understand, nor be okay with it.

"Or... aren't you two together anymore?"

I rubbed the wheel, focusing on the traffic lights above us. If there was anything I didn't want her to feel, it was guilty. She'd felt terrible after our kiss, even when she'd still had hope I'd get back together with Charlotte — what would she do if she'd hear it'd been the end? "No," I said, pulling into the parking lot of Trader Joe's. "We split up two years ago."

"Oh." A deep frown lined her forehead as she unfastened her seatbelt, and I wondered if I should say something about it not being her fault. Before I could decide on anything though, she'd pushed the door open, stepping out.

I hurried after her, watching her legs twist and turn as her hair chased behind her, the image almost surreal — what was she doing here?

A mouth-watering smell rose from the pans on the stove, making my stomach rumble loudly. She shook her head at me, slowly stirring the orange sauce with a spoon. Something was different about the way she moved: it was like she had given up on trying to be fast, like she was even more at ease with her body than she used to be. "Don't you cook anymore?" she asked, with a slightly disapproving undertone.

"Of course I do. What did you think? I could go back to greasy take-out after years of home-cooked meals?"

She didn't answer, only focused on the rice, taking a peek at it to see if it was still boiling. Was she thinking about London, about Charlotte, about what I'd eaten that year? With her lips stretched to a thin line, she opened the drawer on the left, instantly being met with the mixed scents of rosemary, ginger, basil, and thyme. For a second, she closed her eyes, breathing in deeply, then, she let her fingers trace all the different jars filled with spices and herbs. When she spotted me watching her, she flushed, pulling her hand back quickly. "It's been a while since I've had access to a full array," she said, selecting the paprika powder. "Abuela doesn't let anyone near hers."

"I don't let anyone near yours either." It was out before I knew it, and instantly, I wanted to punch myself.

Seemed like it had the same effect on her. Her arm tensed, but her hand opened, dropping the jar on the counter with a bang. "Shit," she said, not looking at me at all. For some reason, the kitchen seemed too small for the both of us all of a sudden. Not looking at me, she tucked her hair behind her ear. "It's time to add the coconut milk. You wanna do it?"

"Sure."

These conversations were getting absurd. Every time I said something foolish, and every time she huffed reprovingly, the anxious bundle of nerves inside of me seemed to grow, along with the wish to shout at her and ask what the hell she was doing here. What did she want? For some reason, an illogical desire to impress her somehow welled up, and determinedly, I opened the can in one go. With a steady, sweeping gesture, I turned it upside down high above the pan —

"Nathan, are you s...—"

Splash!

Too late. The orange sauce splattered in all directions, covering everything in a ten feet radius with thick drops and small pinpricks — they glided down the wall behind the stove and the doors of the cabinets, slowly and steadily.

Damn.

I blinked, wiping a smudge from my forehead, ready to disappear into a hole in the floor. With a grimace, I dared to glance at her. She was frozen in place, her hands clenched into fists, a round, fat blob dangling from the tip of her nose, her shirt stained with smudges. She looked at me, her mouth open.

"Sorry," I wanted to say, only before I could, she giggled. It started small, with a short, soft snicker — then grew into a wide grin — then into laughter, her shoulders shaking as she held her stomach, bending over — and then, then, for the first time since I'd found her here, the little lights showed up, glowing in her big brown eyes.

The sight of it paralyzed me, and I couldn't do anything except watch, finally, finally recognizing the June I knew, finally feeling she was here, really here. The anxious knot in my stomach evaporated, allowing me to breathe freely again — at least, she didn't hate me.

"It's — everywhere," she managed to say, almost impossible to understand through her laughing fit. "What were you thinking?"

I smiled broadly, something light swimming in my chest. She still thought I was funny, even if I hadn't planned to be. "Remember when you threw that pudding through the kitchen?"

"Yeah, well, I have a disability, what's your excuse?"

"I'm just a fool," I said, because I was.

"Nothing new, then."

"Hey, what happened to my personal defense lawyer?"

The lights were still there when she turned to the sink, opening the tap to clean up her nose. She wiped her face, drying it with a towel afterward. "She's too busy defending herself," she said, sticking the spoon back in the saucepan. "And even she can't find excuses anymore after seeing you drop coconut milk from the sky."

Alright, that was fair.

"So, he actually plays D&D now?"

She was sitting across from me, slumping in her chair, not only her shirt stained with curry, but also the surface surrounding her plate. Her cheeks were red, probably a consequence of her downing her wine like it was lemonade. It'd been long since she had some that didn't taste like vinegar, she'd said, though I had the feeling that wasn't the only reason she gulped it back this eagerly. Her elbow was on the table, leisurely, and she looked relaxed.

"Yeah," I said quickly. This was the first time our conversation was flowing nicely instead of coming to an abrupt end, and I wanted to make use of it. "He clearly loves it. I can't seem to shut him up whenever he talks about his attacks, or whatever."

She smiled, her gaze traveling to behind me, where the picture of us three was still put up, her Christmas present from five years ago. Immediately, the smile faltered, replaced by one of those pondering frowns. "I'm happy he's found his place," she said. "Although it does feel a little weird that he's on his own now. I bet Hayley would faint if she knew what he was eating all day."

Hayley. It'd been long since I'd heard that name. I'd run into her once, in the supermarket, and even though I was sure she'd seen me, she'd turned around fast, promptly walking the other way. "Actually," I said, "Sam's gone vegetarian."

"What?" Luckily, she put her glass down just in time, avoiding an embarrassing repeat of two years ago — that'd certainly ruin the mood.

"Not kidding. He claims a real man doesn't eat meat."

Her mouth fell open, and she stared at me unblinkingly. "You're serious? What, are there any hot vegan girls on campus or something?"

I chuckled. "Nope. Not that I know of, anyway. He's just really growing up, I guess."

She nodded thoughtfully, scratching at a dried orange stain on her sleeve. "This is going to sound weird, but it kind of feels like my kid is leaving the house." Right after she said that, she pushed away her glass, shaking her head. "Okay, that stuff is heaven, and I really had enough. Can't believe I just called Sam my kid."

A smile lingered on my face as I remembered how I felt that day I drove him to Pomona, his belongings packed in boxes in the backseat. "I cried on the way home after dropping him off," I said, something I hadn't told a single soul until now.

For a second, she just stared at me, like I'd been speaking Chinese, then, she threw her head back, laughing. This was the right moment. She'd loosened up, she seemed comfortable... No better time than the present. I leaned forward, turning my own glass around between my fingers. "So..." I said, my throat suddenly dry. "What's that favor you wanted to ask?"

Immediately, she fell silent again, her shoulders tensing as she straightened her back, placing her hands on her knees. Her lips strained, and she swallowed visibly. Oh damn... Maybe I should've waited. What if it was something painful? She took a deep breath. "First of all," she said, looking me directly in the eye, "I want you to know that you can say 'no'."

"I'm not going to."

Her uneasiness disappeared, replaced by a gaping mouth. "You don't even know what I'm going to ask!"

"Doesn't matter. Go on."

She shook her head, then said softly, like she couldn't believe it herself: "I got accepted into Berkeley."

I gawked at her, trying to process this new information. Berkeley. She'd managed to get into Berkeley. All on her own. I shouldn't have been surprised, with her intelligence and hard work and captivating writing. Something warm swelled up in my chest — if anyone deserved it, it was her. "June, that's... wow... Berkeley! Congrats." Berkeley... That was what? A forty, fifty-minute drive from here? Which meant she was going to be close, for at least the next four years... Did she need a place to spend her vacations?

"Thanks," she said, clearly trying to hold back a satisfied smile. It wasn't like her to be this humble about her achievements. "The deadline to accept the offer is May first."

A thousand thoughts raced through my mind — did she need help arranging finances or a place to live? I doubted she wouldn't be able to figure that out herself. Someone to answer her questions about university life then? No, it wasn't like I was the only one she knew who'd gone to college.

"Well, what's keeping you? You should go!"

She lowered her gaze, long curls falling over her shoulder. She pushed them back with a jerky hand. The light above caught her eyes, making soft glimmers appear in the deep brown. Again, her cheeks reddened somewhat, and too quickly, she said: "Money is what's keeping me. I don't have a scholarship. At least, not yet."

Oh. So that was it. She wasn't here for me or Sam. She was here for money. And she was damn right to be. "Bullshit," I said. "But June..." In an impulse, I leaned forward, grasping for her hand — June... I was touching June, and I hadn't in so long. She was real. She tensed in my grip, her eyes widened, as if just like me, she couldn't believe what I was doing. "...you know what I said, right? You can get all the money you want."

She was now flushing scarlet, her other hand clenching into a fist. "Are you sure? It's a lot of money, even for you, and—"

"—It's not. I have it. Better to put it to use than let it sit there."

While I was well aware this was making me sound like an arrogant asshole, it was true, and I really wanted to help her out — not because I'd failed her, or because it would redeem me, or because she'd been a friend. No. Because out of all of us, she was the one who had the most right to go to a great university.

She pulled away hastily, drawing her chair back as if I'd bitten her. "Thank you, really. I — I will pay it all back. And I'll keep trying for scholarships."

"If that's what you want."

A nod. "Yes, it is." She grabbed her own legs, looking at her feet. Another one of those silences filled up the air between us, but before I could chase it away, she jumped up: "I think I'm gonna go to bed... It was a long day, and..."

Oh. Alright. Was this it? Did she get what she came for, and would she now disappear again? I wouldn't blame her. I'd done something like that two years ago. "Yeah, of course. — No, leave it, I'll clean up."

She'd reached for her plate, but I could see by her abrupt moves she really was tired. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, it's fine. Go get some sleep."

For a while, she only looked down at me, her one hand squeezing the other, unspoken sentences flying behind her eyes. "Thank you," she said then, again. "I really, really appreciate this. Going to Berkeley is like..." Although she didn't finish, the glimmer in her eyes and the smile touching her lips spoke volumes. "Just... thank you."

Something cold dribbled down my spine — she shouldn't be thanking me. Not after what I'd put her through. "Don't thank me, June. You should be able to go to college. Everyone should."

The joy left her face as quickly as it had come, and her shoulders tensed. "Yeah, sure... I'll just... go up now, then... Is it okay if I sleep in my old room?"

"Of course. It's yours."

A wavering smile, and she walked away, her gaze pointed at the floor. Shit. I'd handled it all wrong. Why did I continue to say these things? What was I even doing? She was here, and all I did was be a fool. "June!" I called after her. She startled, turning around. "It's just... it's good to see you again."

She only smiled, then vanished out of sight.