Prologue

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Prologue

VERA

I have pictured all the possible scenarios my confession to my best friend, Ansel, could go wrong. I could stutter. I could forget all the lines I've mentally rehearsed for weeks. But of all the possible outcomes I've imagined, that wasn't one of them.

I've imagined him telling me he's met the love of his life in the span of one week that we haven't seen each other.

I've imagined him saying he's gay – and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.

I've imagined him telling me I've always just been a sister to him, and nothing more.

Maybe it would have been easier if my feelings were unreciprocated. Maybe I wouldn't have been this devastated, drinking this early in a club my cousin owned. Maybe I would've had the strength to immediately book a flight to somewhere remote to heal my broken heart in silence.

But no.

"Ansel, I'm in love with you," is what I told him. I've chickened out so many times, and when I woke up this morning, I told myself this would be the day I finally muster all the courage to confess. Fuck my life. I shouldn't have listened to my sister, Maree, when she said that I needed to let him know what I felt. He didn't need to know. He wouldn't have died not knowing. And now that he does, where does that leave me? In that pit we all hate called the friendzone.

I knew, in the way Ansel held my hand, but couldn't hold my stare, that my heart was bound to be torn in two. And as dramatic as it may sound, I feel like I'd hear his words even in my deathbed.

"I'm in love with you, too, Vera, but..."

Oh, heck.

Even thinking about it feels like my heart is being repeatedly stepped on.

"But I've finally made up my mind." He took a deep breath. "I'm entering the seminary."

The most painful part is that he never once mentioned his plan to be a priest, not that he's required to let me know everything that's going on inside his head, but we've been friends for six years. Six long years and I never had an inkling. Sure, he was one of the kindest people I've ever known, and probably the most religious, but he's dated around.

Tears stung my eyes – not because he didn't feel the same, but because he did.

The barista, Jake, slid another glass of gin and tonic in my direction. I mouthed a barely audible thank you before taking a sip. This may be my sixth one, I don't really know. The clock read 7 pm. It's too early to be this drunk, too young to be this sad, and too beautiful to be this broken.

I'm tempted to call my sister and tell her what happened, but I know she's busy and I don't want her to drop whatever it is she's doing to pick me up. I can text my friend, Reese, but she's most likely still at work. I can go home to my parents, but I don't want them to see their eldest in this state. I can't call my cousins either because if I tell even just one of them, the whole extended family will know.

I just needed some time, maybe some sushi, and it's like this heartbreak never happened.

Right. That's it.

Sushi.

I downed the last of the gin and tonic before I paid and gave Jake a glorious tip for putting up with all my sniffling. The lights inside the bar were dizzying. It's either that, or all the booze has finally fully kicked in. People are slowly filling the bar, some with their friends, with their significant other, but here I was – sad and alone and hungry. Really really hungry.

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