"Blondie, what the hell?" Jo asks, accusation in her voice, as I reach the counter. "Were you planning on telling me?"

"Tell you what?"

"Greyson told me what happened. Are you okay?"

Wonderful. I was hoping to keep my stupid, drunken mistake to myself, but thanks to Greyson, the whole town will know by the end of the day.

Why can't he leave me alone and mind his own damn business?

"Yeah, I'm fine. It wasn't a big deal," I lie.

"Did he have to hold your hair back too?"

I furrow my brows in confusion. "Hold my – what are you talking about?"

"Greyson said you got really sick at the club, and he took you home. Said he waited with you until you fell asleep, and until he was sure you weren't gonna choke on your own vomit." She slides the box with the peach pie my mother ordered toward me and wrinkles her nose. "How awkward was that?"

He didn't tell her. He kept what really happened a secret.

"Oh...yeah. Super awkward. Good thing I was too drunk to remember." I laugh awkwardly. "What time are you done today?"

"Four o'clock. Then, I have to pick up Hannah from my parents."

"Well, Addie and Jamie are home from London and they're coming for dinner. My dad's grilling. Come over after you pick her up."

"Oh, okay! I can probably be there by four-thirty. Is that okay?"

"Perfect." I pick up the pie and wave over my shoulder as I turn to leave. "See you later!"

"Hello," I hear my sister call from the driveway. "Party's here!"

Adelaide and I haven't seen each other since my wedding. The distance between us and her busy work schedule makes it difficult to see each other. We text every day and Facetime weekly, but we've always been close, and I miss her terribly. She's been in London doing research for her debut novel since I got home, and I can't wait to spend time with my big sister.

As soon as I hear her voice, I put down my water bottle and jump off the back deck so I can run to her – nearly spraining my ankle in the process. She looks stunning in a lavender, spaghetti strap maxi dress and nude espadrille wedges. Her light-brown hair – once long and layered – is shorter than the last time I saw her and is now painted with caramel highlights and cut into a choppy bob. Her deep-set, hazel eyes are an earthy brown, but when she looks at me, they glisten like an old copper penny being examined in the sun. The London fog didn't affect her tan, although she's always been a deeper complexion than me. Where I get burnt by the sun, she morphs into a bronze goddess.

"Come here so I can hug you!" I shout.

She drops her handbag on the pavement and wraps her arms around my neck. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here for you when you needed me."

"You were out of the country, Addie." I pull away from her and cup her face in my hands. "There was nothing you could have done."

"I know," she whimpers, tears wetting her eyes. "But I'm your big sister. I should have been here."

I want to tell her she was here. Not only is Adelaide my big sister, but she was also my first friend. She was three years old when I was born and called me 'the baby' for the first month of my life because my mother refused to name me Big Bird. She was obsessed with Sesame Street back then. Once I was old enough to walk, I followed her around like a duckling follows its mother. I was a bit exploratory when I was young – curious, my mother always says – where Adelaide was more timid, but I never had to beg her to play with me, no matter the request. A sister means having a permanent best friend – if you're lucky. And I am, so lucky.

I want to tell her she's been with me this whole time, but I just hug her instead.

"I'm so glad you're back," I say. I pick her handbag up off the ground and hand it to her. "I want to hear all about your trip."

Hours later, after consuming more food than I have in weeks, my mother is running around the back yard with Hannah as she chases fireflies, Jamison and my father are on their third game of Cornhole, and Jo, Adelaide and I have decided to relax on the hammock after cleaning and putting away the dishes from dinner. We've been trying to get on it for the last ten minutes, but the wine we've had and the fact that we fall into a fit of hysterics every time it flips over is keeping us from doing so. By the third attempt my cheeks are aching.

"I think I got...oh shit!" Adelaide shouts as she flips over again. Her dress falls over her face as she topples backwards off the hammock, exposing her Wonder Woman underwear. "You guys did that on purpose!"

"We're not even on the stupid thing, Addie. You flipped it yourself," Jo says, a hysterical laugh bursting from her mouth. "Nice undies by the way. Wonder Woman?"

"Shut up! It's laundry day!" She fixes her dress and sits down on the hammock, only to flip it over once again. "What the hell is wrong with this thing? I feel like Jack in Titanic when he was trying to get on the door."

"Oh, my God. My stomach hurts." Tears pool in my eyes as I laugh harder than I have in weeks. Maybe ever. "I can't...I can't breathe."

"It's broken. Dad! Your hammock is broken!" Adelaide shouts, but he just turns and smiles, giving her a thumbs up, obviously not having heard her. She tucks her legs underneath her and covers them with her dress. "Forget it. I'll just sit in the grass."

I wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my over-sized cardigan and relax into the hammock with no issue, pulling Jo down with me. She brings her wine glass to her lips and rests her head on my shoulder as we watch Hannah run around the back yard.

"Remember when catching fireflies brought us that much joy?" Jo asks. Hannah's giggle swirls around us as we watch her follow a small, flashing light and reach her tiny hand into the night sky. "I mean, look at her. She doesn't have a care in the world."

"Yeah. That was before life threw up all over us." I take a sip of my wine, emptying the glass. "We took those days for granted. God, we were so naïve. We had no idea what life had in store for us."

"Speaking of which," Adelaide says. She peers up at me from underneath her thick bangs. "Mom told me you saw Greyson."

"That I did."

I really don't want to talk about this. The three of us have been having such a good time that I've been able to forget about Greyson, and Will and what led me back to South Grove in the first place.

"How'd that go?"

"How do you think it went?" I ask. "I broke his heart when I went to New York, and he still hates me for it."

Jo squeezes my hand. I know she thinks Greyson still loves me and that's why he's been so hostile, but I beg to differ.

"I wish real life was like the movies," Jo says. "In movies, everything falls together the way it should, and heartbreak is beautiful."

"Heartbreak isn't beautiful though. It isn't beautiful and life isn't a romantic comedy. Heartbreak is bursting into tears while you're brushing your teeth or breaking down in the middle of the aisle at the drugstore because they're playing a song that reminds you of the first time they smiled at you. It's seeing their face in every person you look at. It's feeling fine for months on end, then all of a sudden, you feel their fingers dust across your skin, or smell their scent in a room where it's just you. It's dreaming of them, only to wake up and reach for them, but they're not there, and the realization that they never will be again hits you like a wave – nearly drowning you. Heartbreak is a lot of things, Jo, but beautiful isn't one of them. I wouldn't wish that type of pain on my worst enemy."

Jo lifts her head from my shoulder and gawks at my sister. "Damn. That was really profound. You're such a writer."

"Give Greyson some time, sis." She reaches over and pats my knee. "He'll come around. I mean, it's you and Greyson. You two are soulmates."

Jo lifts her chin and smiles at me mischievously as Adelaide echoes the exact words she said to me that night in the car after we ran into Greyson at Jenkins.

"I don't believe in soul mates," I say.

I think they're both insane. Greyson and I were teenagers when we fell in love. We didn't know who we were yet, or who we were meant to be. Up until I left for college I led a sheltered life of school football games, pep rallies, proms, and perfect dates. I met the love of my life in a playground when I was six years old, and I was lucky enough to spend twelve years with him before it ended. But it's been a decade since we broke up. I've gotten married to someone else since then and he's traveled the country and became one of the top-rated professional baseball pitchers in the MLB. We've both moved on in one way or another. Right?

"Are you gonna be here for Fourth of July, Del, or will you be back in New York by then?" Jo asks.

Will I still be in South Grove by Fourth of July? I'd like to be and considering it's only three days away and I don't see myself going back to New York any time soon, I guess the answer is yes. I haven't celebrated the holiday in seven years, not the way I used to anyway. Every year, Will and I get out of the city and go to his family's home in The Hamptons. We go for a walk on the beach during the day, and when night falls, I sit by the fire and drink wine while Will makes us dinner. When it's time for the fireworks, we go out on the back deck and watch as they explode over the ocean – and I hate every second of it.

I grew up celebrating with a huge block party, a parade down Main Street and fireworks at South Grove Park. After they were over, everyone would head to Dawson's Beach for a bonfire. There were kids laughing and playing. Friends and family. Live music and dancing. The Hamptons is too quiet – too subdued – but Will insists we go every year. The first couple years I tried to talk him into staying in the city so we could celebrate with Nico and Sloan, but the conversation always ended with us in a fight. After a while it just wasn't worth it anymore. So, for the first time in years, I'm going to spend The Fourth the way I want to.

"Of course, I'll be here. Where else would I be?"

After everyone leaves, I pour myself a cup of chamomile tea, grab my sketch book and get comfortable on the swing on the front porch. I'm not a fashion designer – or an artist – by any means, but I can draw, and I've always found it calming. It centers me in a way nothing else does. Nico always says if my journalism career doesn't work out I can find work as makeshift sketch artist, but I'd rather keep it as a hobby. Sometimes when you start doing something you love for money, you end up not loving it anymore.

I sketch and scribble out eight or so drawings of a cocktail dress before I close the book and place it next to me. I can't concentrate. My conversation with Mr. McKinnie keeps playing in my mind over and over again. My parents haven't said anything about him being ill, and Jo would have told me if she'd heard anything about him, so is it just my instinct as a natural worrier getting the best of me? If it's just aches and pains, why does he look so sick?

"Hey, Delly-bell. What are you doing?" my dad asks. "It's late."

"I wasn't tired yet. Thought I'd come out here and enjoy the peace and quiet. My head's been a little...noisy lately."

He picks up my sketch pad and sits down next to me, draping his arm across the back of the porch swing. "You're drawing again."

"If you call scribbling out a bunch of squiggly lines drawing then yeah, I am." He looks at me with a raised eyebrow. "I can't concentrate," I say, sighing.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. I...I'm fine." I lift the blanket off the patio chair next to me and wrap it around my shoulders. "I saw Mr. McKinnie at Maribelle's today."

It could be my imagination, but I swear I feel him stiffen.

"Oh, yeah? How's he doing?"

"You tell me." He looks out into the street and sighs. He knows exactly what I'm talking about. "What's wrong with him, Dad?"

"He has cancer, Del."

My hand flies up to my mouth, covering a horrified gasp. "You mean had," I state, praying he misspoke.

"No. I mean has."

Mr. McKinnie is the healthiest person I know – or at least he used to be. His diet was clean, living on homemade protein shakes, kale salads with grilled chicken and vegetables grown in his own garden. He's never smoked a cigarette or had a sip of alcohol. He's an avid exerciser. He takes vitamins and supplements daily and he's never missed a doctor's appointment.

There's no way someone who takes such good care of themselves developed cancer. It just doesn't make sense.

"You must be wrong."

"I wish I was."

"But he – he was...he always took such good care of himself. How does a healthy person get cancer?"

"Unfortunately, that doesn't matter. Cancer is a disease, not a punishment."

"Well, what type does he have? Is it curable?"

"It's prostate. A couple years ago, he was having trouble going to the bathroom and was having pain throughout his entire body. He went to the doctor and after some tests, they told him he had prostate cancer. He had surgery to get it removed and underwent six months of chemotherapy. Greyson immediately took over the company. His father didn't even need to ask. He's really been there for them." My chin trembles and tears fill my eyes as I listen to my father detail what the McKinnie's have been through, and I rest my head against his shoulder, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. "Mr. McKinnie went into remission and went back to work, but it was just to oversee operations, do the books, that sort of thing. He's been okay for a while, but he told me a few months ago that he's been feeling off again."

"How far along is it?"

"It was Stage Three. I'm not sure what's going on now."

I cover my mouth with my hand and bark out a sob. "Oh my, God."

"I think it's back. He looks –"

"Awful," I interrupt. "Why didn't anyone tell me? He's like a second father to me. You should have told me."

He wraps his arm around me, holding me tight. "He didn't want anyone to know. Greyson wasn't in a good place then and Mr. McKinnie didn't want any unnecessary attention on him when he was in town."

I feel horrible. No, horrible isn't a strong enough word. I feel disgusted with myself. Disgusted for not knowing and disgusted because I wasn't here for them. The McKinnie's are incredible people. Even before Greyson and I were a couple, our parents were best friends. We shared holidays and birthdays together. We vacationed to Disney World every spring. We even had keys to each other's houses. They're family, and I hate that they're going through this.

All I can think is, how can I help?

"So, what now? What do we do?"

"We give them a shoulder to lean on and support them in any decisions they make. It's all we can do."

"That doesn't seem like enough."

"It's not, but it's all we can offer them." He rubs his hand along his jaw and sighs. "I just can't believe how much has changed since you left for New York. Adelaide is married and lives an hour away. You're getting divorced. Jo is a single mother. Greyson isn't a baseball player anymore. My best..." he trails off. He turns away from me and clears his throat, no doubt trying to hide the emotion that's choking him. "My best friend has cancer and is a shell of the person he used to be." He quickly wipes his eyes. "Nothing is what I thought it would be, but I feel so lucky to have had my family together tonight. Things aren't perfect, but we're all healthy. Does that make me selfish?"

I wrap my arms around his waist and shake my head. "No. It doesn't make you selfish. It makes you human."

Though the timing is shit, I can't help but feel like my father is right. After everything that's happened, I feel lucky to have the people in my life that I have. My sister and Jamison are in a healthy, happy marriage. My parents are well. I have my childhood best friend back and I have the chance to know her perfect daughter. I have so many positives in my life, but my father is right. Things didn't turn out the way I'd planned. Not one bit.Thanks for reading!