Chapter 2

That night, I went home and started packing.

I'd just closed the suitcase when the door burst open. Serena and Ryan tumbled in together, laughing and shoving each other.

Ryan hung off Serena's shoulder, doubled over with laughter.

"Quit pushing me, you're clearly the one who's wrong here!"

Serena shoved him off, laughing just as hard.

"You're the one who's wrong."

Only once they'd finished laughing and roughhousing did they notice me standing there.

Serena pushed Ryan off her and pulled a stack of catalogs out of her bag like she was presenting a prize.

"Tristan, I had a friend bring back some wedding-planning catalogs special. Take a look when you get a chance."

She held them out to me.

I stared at the glossy wedding photos on the covers, hesitating for only a few seconds.

Ryan had already pounced and flipped one open.

"Whoa, this venue's gorgeous. Serena, look at this one!"

Serena leaned in, and the two of them pored over it head to head, fingers jabbing at the pages.

"I like this one!"

"This hall's a little small, though."

"You're so picky. We're getting this one!"

They started bickering again as they talked.

Ryan reached over and pinched Serena, and she grabbed for his wrist in retaliation, the catalog between them crinkling under the scuffle.

Finally, Serena caught him by the ear, scolding him through her laughter.

"Keep it up, and I'm canceling with this venue."

Ryan hunched his shoulders, begging off. "Okay, okay, I give — let go..."

Only then did she release him, giving his hair a playful swat on the way.

I stood off to the side, feeling like the single most unnecessary person in the room.

Sure enough, Ryan looked more like Serena's groom than I did.

The newlywed home had been decorated to Ryan's taste.

The wedding, too, was being staged to Ryan's taste.

The catalog fell open to a certain page, and Ryan spoke up.

"We need white hydrangeas at the ceremony. Huge arrangements of them. I've had it planned out for ages."

Serena nodded. "Sure, hydrangeas it is."

I stared at Serena as she traded notes with Ryan, and before I knew it, I'd spoken.

"I like red roses."

Serena glanced up at me, startled for a second.

Ryan looked at me too, blinking, and then burst out laughing.

"Tristan, are you serious? Who even uses red roses at a wedding these days? So tacky."

Serena laughed along and reached over to pat my arm.

"Ryan's right. Hydrangeas are so much more elegant. Red roses are what we all liked as kids. You really need to let your taste grow up along with his."

Her hand rested on my arm.

It was a warmth I knew well, but for the first time, it turned my stomach, and my eyes burned right along with it.

I crouched down and pretended to fuss with the suitcase I'd already zipped shut, running my fingers back and forth over the zipper pull — cold, and prickling against my skin.

I didn't dare look up. If I did, the tears would fall.

The truth was, I had said something.

I'd said it plenty of times.

Last winter, when we changed out the curtains, Ryan had picked a gray patterned set. I'd stood there and said, "Wouldn't the cream-colored ones feel a little warmer?"

Ryan hadn't even looked up. "Gray hides dirt better."

Serena, scrolling her phone beside him, hummed in agreement. "Go with what Ryan says. He's got good taste."

That row of cream-colored curtains had hung right in front of me, swaying, and neither of them had so much as glanced at it twice.

The summer before last, the three of us went on a trip together. Ryan wanted to see the desert out in Arizona. I said I wanted to see the ocean.

Serena, busy booking hotels, didn't even look up. "The desert sounds so much cooler. Ryan's had the whole itinerary planned for half a month already."

I sat on the couch, quietly listening to the two of them chatter on about the trip, never once able to get a word in.

Once or twice, I told myself it was a coincidence.

Five or six times, I told myself I just hadn't pushed hard enough.

Ten or twenty times, I started to wonder if the things I liked just weren't good enough.

Whether red roses really were tacky. Whether cream really did show dirt too easily. Whether a city by the ocean really wasn't worth visiting.

So I changed.

But no matter how much I changed, they never asked me when it came time to decide.

I was like the person who always shows up too late for a hot meal — by the time I worked up the nerve to speak, they'd already finished eating without me.

The suitcase zipper had gone damp and slick under my grip.

Serena's voice floated down from above me.

"Tristan, why are you packing? Going on a business trip?"

Ryan chimed in too. "Yeah, where are you headed?"

I took a deep breath and looked up, meaning to tell them I was leaving.

But the moment I looked up, Serena and Ryan had already bent their heads back down over the catalog.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again.

Never mind. If I had said something a hundred times and no one heard me, then the hundred-and-first time wouldn't be any different.

I bent down, picked up the suitcase handle, and said quietly, "I'm leaving."

Serena didn't even look up.

"Come back soon. We've got an appointment in a few days to look at reception dresses."

Ryan waved a hand at me.

"Safe travels, Tristan. Oh, and shut the door on your way out!"