Supper was a simple enough affair; I settled for bangers and mash as the main course, sticky toffee pudding for dessert, and plenty of cold bitter for everyone. I patted myself for doing an excellent job. And believe me, this was new. Over the last few weeks, I had criticized myself more often than not, and it felt good to know and remember that I could do something right.

Looking over the room, I mentally congratulated myself—again. The feeling of yet another accomplishment was so great that I feared I would get an inflated ego or sense of entitlement before the evening ended.

There was no denying the surreal perfection though; starting with the way the Windsor Lace curtains fell in between the thicker darker patterned ones and the rustic bronze light fixtures glowing dimly, the wiring now perfect thanks to my team of heroes. The potted palms in corners brought in freshness and an outdoorsy feel. The walls, neatly painted in soft hues, matched perfectly with the throw rugs on the floor. Since I didn't want wallpaper, I settled for wall decorations like a vintage double hemisphere map, patinated wall plaques, and woven wool tapestries – all courtesy of eBay.

The floor varnish now sparkled in the soft lighting and all imperfections including holes and worn out patches had been subtly hidden. I adored the furniture I bought from a local craftsman; he did wonders after looking over catalogs with me. For the living room, I had him craft a 17th-century floral French sofa with matching side chairs and ottomans. Separating the living and dining area was a replica of a French screen and a Victorian mahogany side table. And in the dining room, sat a round Chippendale dining table with six high back chairs.

Yes, I had finally done it. It took weeks of living in my new house and pussyfooting over furnishing to get me to this point. Alongside, I had all the personal challenges adding to the delays. With all that behind me—mostly—I had done what I believe any girl would have. I found solace in shopping, spending exorbitant amounts of money and decorating—while driving the world nuts with my peculiar taste.

The vibes from the house permeated through me, and I lavished in the comfort and security that I now felt. Finally getting that big job out of the way had been therapeutic indeed. With this rodeo conquered, I knew I had one more challenge left. To find a way to show my gratitude to my team of heroes.

Now, as they sat in my furnished living room, bursting at the seams from overeating, I knew I had accomplished that objective as well.

My eyes drifted over the boys. Etash, the youngest, seemed to be nodding off. Dev and Brij were hooting at the sports channel that was airing a cricket match; how and why would they miss out on it? Aalam sat hunched over his drink, mumbling something to JT, whose eyes remained glued to me.

And I? I stood by the kitchen counter, nursing my bitter, satisfied with how everything was coming along.

Until JT saddled up to me. In just the way he walked and the way he appeared to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, I knew the better part of the evening was now over. He had something to say, and I knew it wasn't going to be pleasant.

Something in my demeanor must have been equally transparent for he knew that I knew. He slipped past me without a word, with the expectation for me to follow. I put my drink on the counter before dutifully following him out. The least I could do was hear him out.

The evening air had a nip to it, and I was glad we had left the bonfire embers smoldering. As we stood by the dying heat, I wondered if JT was also reminiscing about our only kiss.

May. The thought of her brought about a bitter taste, and I shoved my hands in my pockets before turning to JT. Whatever he had to say, he had better say it quickly. As grateful as I was for his heroic act, I didn't know if I could forgive him, or myself, entirely for what had transpired that night.

"So what's bothering you," I asked.

He scratched his neck before sighing deeply. "You know what."

"Perhaps, I do. Perhaps, I don't. But I'm not in the mood to play guessing games. So spit it out already." I didn't know where the hostility came from, but it set the stage for the remainder of our conversation.

"Tilly. You know that chapter isn't closed yet," he reminded me.

I groaned. "Not again, James," I said. "I told you I didn't want anything more to do with her. I don't understand why you keep pushing the issue." In the days since my rescue, James never missed an opportunity to bring up Tilly. It was like he was obsessed. Why couldn't he understand that I wanted, no, I needed, to put this behind me?

"You know why. I want you to hear Tilly's side of the story. I understand why she did what she did, and you need to as well. There's no closure for anyone without this step, Gwen."

I snorted with disbelief. "My former best friend conspires with my abusive ex-boyfriend to hurt me. She drugged me for crying out loud. Why the fuck would I want to speak with her ever again? What is there to understand? She crossed a line and as far as I'm concerned, you can hand her over to the authorities along with dumb and dumber and be done with it."

By the time I finished, I had realized that I was yelling at James. Ooh, that man could be so frustratingly thick in the head!

"Gwen, I can understand your reluctance..." JT began while attempting to be civil with me, despite my screaming. He seemed like he wanted to hold my hand, but I cut him off with a screech. "No," I yelled at him again, swatting his hands away.

"You don't understand. You couldn't understand it. You would never be able to understand. How could you? You did not live my life and my experiences. You cannot understand what it felt like to me." My hands were wildly swinging around as if to underscore what I was trying to communicate.

"Really, Gwen? What gave you the impression that my life is or has been perfect? In the tiny glimpses that I have allowed you, yes, you see my life as perfect. But my life is far from it. You think you're the only one to have ever been betrayed by someone close?" JT crossed his arms and stared at me in disbelief.

"Step out of your bubble. Your woe-is-me self-pity party is over. Shit. Learn to look beyond yourself. I thought your time with Aunt Jasmine would have taught you that not everything is as it seems. Maybe I was wrong."

I laughed. "That old song-and-dance James? Grow up." I huffed unable to think of anything else to say. I was pissed off, and at that moment, no rational thought occupied my head. All I did was feel—anger, sadness, shock, remorse, a degree of guilt.

This conversation was like a runaway train. And I didn't know how to stop it. Regardless of what transpired between JT and me, the last thing I wanted was harsh words leaving behind an even deeper abyss. The May issue was difficult enough to get past.

"You're asking me to grow up when you're the one acting like a petulant child?" He asked, bewildered. "What person your age refuses to listen to reasoning? Who goes off the deep end even before a conversation begins? I... I mean seriously? Look at you," he said with disbelief. He turned his back towards me and ran his hands through his hair.

Swiveling his head partially to look at me, he shook his head and whispered. "Live up to your name, Tara. Be the bright shining star in the sky, instead of the darkness. Be the guiding light that people look up to and follow. Be the bigger person. And while you're at it, stop running away from your fears, your problems, and your challenges. You know as well as I do that doesn't make them disappear."

You know what they say, right? About the truth, hurting? Well, his words stung. My face felt hot like it was on fire. All the blood rushed to my head. I had so many thoughts tearing around so quickly that I was unable to grasp onto one and turn it into words.

As I stared at JT's retreating form, all I could think was, Fuck you, fuck your attitude, and get the fuck out of my house.

Later that night, I lay in my bed, staring at the space around me. The pastel walls, the gently billowing curtains, and the reproduction of an antique dressing table that sat adjacent to an imitation of an equally antique Louis XVI armchair. The only non-French or English furniture in my room was the rustic American chest of drawers. I sighed. Had I overdone the whole 17th-century feel?

I snuggled further into my blanket, hoping to bury my thoughts.

But no, the argument with James played over and over in my head like a broken record. Each time his words echoed in my mind, I had a new and creative retort. Why didn't these pop into my head when I was fighting with him? If only I had thought of them during the heated conversation, I would have been the one to walk away with the last intelligent word. Instead, I had been left standing in the cold. Damn that man. Damn him to hell!

At some point I tried, unsuccessfully, to think of the situation from JT's perspective. Why did he want me to hear Tilly's explanation? For the briefest moment, I allowed myself to recognize that James was no fool, and therefore, his belief in Tilly must be well placed. That would make me wrong for not considering the possibility of her being an unwilling or forced participant in my almost-abduction.

The bitter taste of being wrong was hard to get past. I hated being wrong and worse still, I hated having to admit to the fact that I was wrong.

I tried coming up with explanations, arguments, and wayward justifications for my stubbornness and eagerness to paint Tilly as the bad person. But the only words that played in my head repeatedly were James' parting words—be the bigger person and stop running.