Gemma's POV

MY HANDS are stuffed into the pockets of my jacket, as I walk over to the bench that he's sitting on. My chest is tight, and I don't want to be here, but I can't turn back now. I'm surprised that he even remembers me after all of these years. I haven't seen him since he was eight years old. Back then, he was almost like a son to me, but time has a way of changing things.

"Thanks for coming," he breaks the ice.

I nod and sit beside him. He doesn't look at me, and continues to stare aimlessly in front of him. I inhale a deep breath, and sit back, hoping that it won't take too long—whatever it is that he wants from me.

I have nothing against the kid. But I've moved on, and I'm sure that he's going to make me relive the past in some way or another.

I say, "you look alot like her, you always have," he finally looks at me and smiles, but it doesn't seem too genuine, "you look alot like him too."

He definitely resembles both of his parents. I can see his mother's misguiding smile, and his father's devious eyes.

"You've told me that before—when I was younger," he answers, then exhales a breath, and leans back, still looking at me. His gaze is almost alarming, "you look the same somehow. I don't know how that's possible."

"Jack, you're being kind. But I'll take it as a compliment."

"Well, you look wiser—uh, mature," is he trying to find a way to not call me old? "And you've always been beautiful."

Okay, I'll take it as a compliment, but let's not get off topic, "why do you want to talk to me, Jack?"

My chest tightens even more. Sitting here with him, I'm thinking about things that I haven't thought about in years.

"You," he mumbles. What about me? "and my mom."

I swallow. She's the last person that I want to talk about, "what about your mother?"

He rubs the back of his neck with the palm of his hand, "you and her—you know, what happened between you two," he isn't clear on exactly what he's referring to, so I try to play it off.

"We were good friends, Jack. She—"

"I know it was more than that, Gemma," my body freezes. I don't have a response for that. I feel as though he can see that all the blood has drained from my face, and I'm as white as my french tipped nails, "it was always obvious."

I bite down on my bottom lip, "Jack, I don't know what you're—"

"Did you love her, Gemma?" The blood rushing to my heart stops. I clench my teeth and swallow. Love. I haven't tasted that flavor upon my lips in ages. I've grown old, and also cold. I don't trust anyone with my heart—not anymore, "it was strange when you left. It was as though something was missing—you were missing. You became such a big part of our lives so quickly—you were like a second mother to me—or more like a father, when mine wasn't around."

My mind begins to reminisce. I can remember the times that we'd go to the waterpark, and by the end of the day, our fingers and toes would be wrinkled to a prune. Or when I'd help him with his English homework, because he didn't know enough adjectives to write an interesting story. We did a lot of things together.

And he thought that I was just his mother's friend—her best friend.

"Leaving is the best thing I've done for myself. But I never meant to hurt you, Jack. I know that it was selfish of me to leave like that," and I'm being selfish now, by not telling him the truth, but I can't admit to his mother's secret. It isn't mine to tell.

"I think I understand why you did leave, Gemma. And you don't have to feel guilty. It's not like I'm your kid."

I wonder where this conversation is leading to, "Jack, I'm not sure what you want from me. Your mother and I were just—"

"You're a lesbian, right?"

That tension in my chest increases, "yes, but that doesn't mean that I'm attracted to every woman I come across. I can have friends without ever thinking about them like that," but she wasn't just any other friend. Yes, to some extent, his mom and I were friends. But it went beyond that. At least for me, it was more.

"She loves you, Gemma."

I feel like he kicked my chest with his foot. I know that it's not true. And that makes me nauseous. Even if she once did, it's been way too long for her to still feel that way.

"Maybe as a friend she did," I try to keep up my brave face, but my strength is weakening. And I don't know how much longer I can sit here with him.

"And you loved her too?"

I inhale a deep breath and sigh, "as a friend, Jack. Please don't insinuate anything more, because there isn't."

"Don't pull that just a friend crap. I might have been oblivious back then. But looking back, it all makes sense."

"Then why don't you ask your mother? Why are you trying to get something out of me that isn't true? If you're so suspicious of us, please talk about it to her, and leave me alone."

I stand and grit my teeth, hoping that he can't see the panic in my eyes.

"Because she'll do the same thing you're doing—deny it."

There's many mistakes that I've made in my life. And falling for that woman is one of them. To this day, thinking about her makes me sad and angry. I feel pathetic whenever I have memories of her. Weak. Stupid. Gullible...

"She'll deny it because there was nothing between us, Jack. She's a married woman, who loves her husband—through the good and bad times. I was just her friend, Jack. Please don't bring this up again."

"He died six years ago, Gemma," he stands with me. All of my anger surrounds my heart, and almost makes it impossible for me to breathe, "were you really just her friend?"

I've never been fond of Jack's father. In some ways, I hated him with all my being, just because of the way he treated Jack's mother.

"Just friends, Jack," I mumble and walk away. I try to walk as quickly as possible, before he tries to stop me, and ask something else that will make me more angry.

There is so much anger building up inside of me, and it's not because of him. Or because of anything he said. It's because I hate remembering anything about her. It hurts. It always hurts. And it's been over twenty fucking years!

Three days ago...

AT FIRST glance, there seems to be nothing unfamiliar about this town. I spent my childhood climbing these trees, and learning to ride my bike on these sidewalks and streets. I ran over these streets as though nothing could ever hurt me.

Everyone knew my name. But they didn't actually know me. The Cohens. I don't think most people even called me by my first name. Little Cohen, they'd say. Or just plain Cohen.

It's been years since I've looked into this sky, which was unlike any other part of the world, where I've been. There's just something different about it—familiar. I've never come across a bluer depth of endlessness, not even in the eyes of a woman.

"You still wonder off like that, huh?" I almost panic, as a man walks beside me, placing his hand on my shoulder and squeezing. I draw in a breath, and drop my eyes to the grass beneath my feet.

Everything my eyes lands on, reminds me of my childhood—of my faded youth. It's bittersweet to think about the days when I was that joyful little girl, running in the grass, and staring into the brightness of the sun, as hard as I could. But I've grown—old and getting grey. And without the ones I love the most.

"And you're still as nosy as I remember," I say. The old man laughs, and slides his hand down my arm, before taking a step back.

"You haven't changed completely, I see. Still that smartass who never believed babies were delivered by storks," he lets out a laugh.

I snicker. I wasn't a dumb kid. And grandfather taught me everything I needed to know, so that I wouldn't believe the stupid tales of the older generation. Yet, I did believe in Santa Claus until I was twelve, even though I'd been told he didn't exist. Sometimes, I want to believe in the fictional side of life. Like how some believe in love at first sight.

I turn and look at Mr. Johnson in the eyes. He's aged a lot since the last time I saw him. His hair is completely gray, and balding above his temples. His eyes aren't those bright emeralds that I remember them to be. And the lines on his face are memories of every adventure that he's been on.

"Has any kid believed that tale that you've told?" He smiles and shakes his head, "that's a no?"

"No, no," he raises his hand, while still laughing, "some kids don't question it, even if they don't believe it. You've never been one to hold back your tongue. Even when you were three years old, and hanging from your father's neck."

I suck in a breath, and my chest tightens. That tension moves straight down to the pit of my stomach. Father. The word is almost unfamiliar.

"I'm going to take a walk, thanks for everything, Mr. Johnson, my grandfather always thought the best of you," he nods and takes another step back. The crowd behind us has disappeared, and all that I'm left with is guilt and angst.

"He was a good man. It was too soon for him, but he's up there now," Mr. Johnson looks into the sky, before returning his attention to me. I've questioned the heavens many times over the years, but in a sky so beautiful, I'm reminded of my faith, even in dark times like this.

"I'll see you at the service," I take off before he can get another word in. I follow the length of the street without questioning where I'm going. The day seems to be never-ending. I look at the buildings lined off on the streets, remembering each and every one I've been in with my grandfather.

He's the one who took care of me after my parents died in a car crash when I was young. He's the only family I've ever really known. And yet, I abandoned him...

Now, it's too late to make amends. I wipe the tear from sliding further down my cheek. At the end of the street, I notice the bakery that he took me to almost everyday. Back then, the middle-aged woman behind the counter always greeted us with a smile, and often let me sample anything that I wanted.

I walk in, hearing the bell above the door chime, and the patrons inside look at me. I lower my head, and head over to the counter. This place hasn't changed too much. It's the same lime green interior with yellow booths to accent it. It's quite old-fashioned. But that's what makes it unique.

I look at the menu plastered on the wall, and sigh deeply. I guess the bakery has changed a little bit—they changed up the menu.

"How can I help you today?" Someone behind the counter asks. I inhale a breath, and look at the young blonde in front of me. She has long, straight hair, smooth and golden. A lot of people assume I'd have the same hairstyle with my blonde hair, if I didn't butcher it almost every three months. I usually go for a pixie cut, with wavy curls and platinum blue highlights. But my hair's naturally blonde and straight. And I definitely don't like being straight.

I run my fingers through my hair, knowing that it's longer than I usually let it be. But a haircut is the last thing on my mind right now.

"You don't, by chance, have the honey banana bread?" I place my hands onto the counter and lean forward, "it was my favorite back in the day."

"How long ago was that?" She places her fingers over her mouth and giggles, "we've never sold that here."

I furrow my brows, "how would you know? You're like twelve years old," she frowns and narrows her eyes at me. The kids are so rude these days. And I never learned how to control my sharp tongue.

"Look, lady, we don't sell that. I think you should leave," she points to the door as though she's one of those anime characters on tv. Her eyes are wide, and it seems as though black lines are on her face.

"Samantha!" Someone yells at her. I turn my attention to the direction of the voice, and find someone extremely familiar.

"Audrey, is that really you?"

"Well, duh, moron," the same girl mumbles, but I ignore her. I have no time to deal with insufficient teenagers.

"Samantha, I think it's time we have a talk. Get Drake to cover your station, and meet me in my office."

"What? Why?"

"Because I said so," Audrey lets out a fumed breath, and turns her attention to me, "long time no see, stranger," she pulls me in for a hug. Just like everyone else in this town, I haven't seen her in ages.

"It's so good to see you," I embrace her and smile, "I'm so sorry that I haven't—"

She slaps my shoulder, "you're an asshole," she then playfully pushes me, "it's been almost twenty years, Gemma."

I sigh and rub my shoulder, not knowing what to say, "Audrey, I'm—"

"Not even a visit. You could've at least called every once in a while."

"I know, and I'm sorry," her frown turns into a smile.

"I'm just happy to see you. Why are you here after all these years anyway?" She leads me to an empty table and we sit down.

"I, uh," I rub the back of my neck. I think I saw her earlier. Why would she—

"I'm kidding. Sorry. Bad joke," she sighs, "I didn't approach you. Thought you'd find me when you're ready to talk, and here you are."

I smile at her. It isn't as genuine as I'd like it to be. But it's either that, or having a frown, "I came in for your mom's famous banana bread. I'm glad I ran into you though. I'm sorry about earlier. I was just so lost in my—"

"No need to worry. I almost thought you didn't recognize me," she laughs.

"I've seen you on instagram. I pretty much know everything about you, even though it's been so long."

She shrugs, "social media, right? I just joined Tik Tok, but apparently I'm too old to do the renegade," it's my turn to laugh. I lean forward, and feel my cheeks hurting, "there's that smile I've been waiting for. Don't think I don't know when you're being deceiving. I've known you since you were a toddler."

I've missed this—having her brighten my day. She's always managed to put a genuine smile on my face somehow or the other, "thank you," I inhale a breath, and lower my eyes to the surface of the table, "today's been... hard... harder than I thought it would be."

"You're handling it pretty well, Gem. I know he meant a lot to you."

"Yeah, so much so that I didn't talk to him for fifteen years," I want to bury my face into something—anything. So that I can hide the shame that I feel.

"That long, huh?" She stretches her hand across the table, and places it over mine, "I'm sorry, Gem. Time has a way of running out."

"I'm too prideful. He was amazing to me, and all I did was let him down," she knows what I'm referring to. Over twenty years ago, after I came out to him, you guessed it—he didn't approve. I went off to college in New York. And after a few years, the bond that we had extinguished. It didn't take long for me to make him choose between me and his beliefs. And slowly but surely, he chose the thing that severed the ties between us.

"Gem, he was a good man. But you had to live your life. You have to be able to love who you love without feeling ashamed about it."

"I just wish things could have been different."

I take a steady, deep breath to try to calm my nerves. Taking a better look at Audrey, she's changed a lot from what she looked like when we were young. Her hair is no longer damaged from us dying it constantly in different colors, and she got rid of her bangs. She's a mature woman now, just like me. We're definitely not the naive teenagers we once were.

"Changing the topic... come over for dinner tonight. How long are you going to be here anyway?"

"I'm not sure how long it's going to take to sort everything out."

"Where are you staying?" She asks.

"At the bed and breakfast nearby," I lean back and twist my head, stretching my neck. The plane ride here was cramped and extremely long. I live on the other side of the continent—Sin City they call it. But recently I've heard many people referring to it as The Big Easy.

"It's nice at the BnB, isn't it?" I nod, "it opened around nine years ago. It's a hotspot in the town. All the tourists prefer it over the hotels now. It's always booked."

"I guess I'm lucky I got a room," I look around the room, watching people sit and laugh, and enjoy their assortment of baked goods. Some have a cupcake, or a muffin, or even just a cookie.

"So? Dinner tonight?" I refocus my eyes on her, and rub the back of my neck with the palm of my hand. I'm not sure that I want to be a part of a table of judges this evening. I know her husband is what we call a devoted Christian, and I doubt he'll like me.

"I don't want to impose—"

"Don't be ridiculous. Come by seven. My cooking has improved over the years. Don't worry," that eases my hesitation not as much as I'd like.

"Okay, I'll be there."

"Give me your number. I'll text you my address."

She tells me to give her a few minutes, and heads towards the back of the bakery.

I'd say I've known her since the day she was born. She reminds me of her mother—the same lady who used to be behind the counter, giving me any treat that I wanted. Audrey seems to have taken over the bakery now. I know that her mother passed away a few years ago, and her father is a retired marine, living his days at a marine-based nursing home.

It's strange how I'm up-to-date on everything about her, even though I haven't had a face-to-face conversation with her in so many years.

Gemma's POV

I STARE at the ceiling fan, as I lay on this bed, thinking about my childhood with my grandfather. Every image of him that flashes across my mind has a smile. I'm only thinking about the good times, because that's what I'm letting myself remember.

After leaving the bakery, I went to the memorial service. Mr. Johnson hosted it at his house, which I am thankful for. He's organized everything today—from the flowers on the casket to greeting all of the guests at the service. I felt out of place. A lot of people remember me, but I can't say that I remember them.

An annoying buzz interrupts my thoughts. I groan and turn onto my side, looking at my awoken phone screen, as it continues to chime and vibrate. It's the reminder to get ready for tonight.

I better shower and get dressed. Plugging my phone in to charge in the meantime, I head into the bathroom, and begin to discard my clothing.

I take my time under the steaming water, trying to wash away the tears that I've shed today, but more begin to run down my cheeks. I place the palm of my hands against the wall and lean forward. The muscles in my body tense, as I let out a shriek. He's really gone.

I get out of the shower and dry my skin. Looking at myself in the mirror, I know that I want to cover up the bags under my eyes with some concealer. I don't want to look like a corpse.

After getting dressed, I slip my feet into my combat boots, grab my things, and head out of the door. Google maps helps me with the directions to Audrey's house, and it's only an eleven minute walk.

The sun is about to set, and the wind is quite chilly. Luckily, I'm wearing my leather jacket, else I'll catch frostbite. The reason I live in Las Vegas is because I can't handle the cold weather. And Vegas barely snows, but gets really hot in the summer. I also love having the mountains as a view.

Here, in Fairfield Connecticut, the mountains are nicer than the ones back in Vegas. They're gorgeous actually.

I look at the kids running along the sidewalk, and almost bumping into me as I pass by. The wind has their hair floating, and slapping them in their faces. I wish I could be like them again, just for a day—when I had the ones I loved surrounding me.

I stuff my hands into the pockets of my jacket, and cross the street, wanting to get out of their way.

Taking a look at the house that google maps directed me to, I inhale a deep breath. I have a bad feeling about this.

"Gemma, you're right on time," Audrey answers the door and lets me in. As soon as I walk in, I'm greeted by a little girl.

"Hi!" She smiles widely at me, and I notice that one of her front teeth is missing. She's cute though, with her messy red hair, and freckles on her face.

"Hello," I glance around the house, and as we walk into the living room, I recognize Audrey's husband, who is sitting on the couch, "Brian, right?" He stands and stretches his hand out for me to shake.

"Yes," his charming smile is just like how I remember it from pictures on instagram. Audrey constantly posts pictures of her family, and it's always nice to see their faces on my timeline, "wow, I finally get to meet the infamous Gemma."

I smile back at him, "so she talks about me?"

"Every now and then. We've been together for almost sixteen years now, right, honey?" We both look at Audrey, as she walks towards us with a tray of drinks in her hands.

"And married for almost fifteen. Where does the time go?" She places the tray onto the table in the center of the room. The little girl runs behind her, and almost knocks herself off of her feet, "careful, sweetheart."

"Daphne, go get your sister."

"Okay, daddy," the girl rushes for the stairs, and sprints up as though she's running a marathon.

"You have a lovely home," we sit and I clasp my hands on top of my lap, "at least one of us made kids, right?" I try to laugh, but their unamused faces make me bite on my bottom lip, "so... how have you guys been? Anything exciting?"

Brian shrugs, "god is good. We have a beautiful family and a lovely home. What more could we ask for?" Sometimes I feel as though I'm missing out—not having kids.

But I believe that there's more to life than just that. Everyone's purpose is to multiply—at least that's what most people say, or what we're made to believe. But I'm not even cut out to be a cat mom, yet alone the mom of a human child. I've never been ready to be responsible for an individual, knowing they'd be my responsibility for the rest of their lives.

Maybe I'm missing out on something special. But I also like my life just the way it is.

"I can't believe you fired that girl today. Has she been constantly rude to customers?" I look at Audrey.

"Yeah. I've been meaning to let her go for a while now. She really didn't like you though," Audrey laughs. I narrow my eyes, and shrug.

"This generation sometimes disappoints me," I say.

"You sound like an old lady," a teenage girl walks into the room, pulling her airpods out of its case.

"Claire! Have some manners," the girl snickers, and rolls her eyes. She plops herself beside her father, and leans back, "I feel the same way, Gemma."

The little girl comes rushing into the room, and over to me, "your hair is so short," she then turns her attention to her father, "daddy, can I get a haircut like that? It's so cool."

I place my hand against my hair and smile, "Daphne, you have beautiful, long hair. Why would you want to cut it?" She huffs and turns her attention back to me.

"He won't understand," she steps closer to me, "can I sit next to you?" I nod and she smiles widely, before sitting beside me.

Her father is looking at us with a watchful glare. I'm not sure if he thinks that I'm a bad influence or not. But from my experience over the years, I know a man like him wouldn't want me around his kids for the simple reason that I'm a lesbian.

"You're mom's friend from when you two were kids, right?" Claire looks at me. One of her airpods is in her ear, and the other is still in the case. She closes the case, and places it into the pocket of her hoodie.

"Yes. We basically grew up together," I answer.

"I was always over at her house. You'd think I lived there," Audrey has always been like a sister to me. Back then more than now.

I still remember the fight that my grandfather and I had about her. After I told him about my sexuality, he questioned my relationships with every woman in my life—including my best friend. I can't say that I never thought about it. Audrey has always been a beautiful and an amazing person. But she's always been straight. And we are definitely better off as friends.

"I can't believe that you two were so close. My mom's so religious, and you're so," Claire purses her lips and flashes her eyes along the length of my body, "different. I don't mean that in a bad way. I just would never assume you two would be friends."

She looks away and sighs.

"I'm not religious. But that doesn't mean I don't believe in god. Some of us are just more dedicated than others," I glance around the room, hoping that I'm not offending anyone.

"Dedication is the root of belief, I'd say," Brian's eyes are focused on me, "to love god is to love his church and the preachings from the bible."

"I don't think that going to church makes you any more of a believer. I believe that there's something out there—without persecution about gender, race or religion. This God we believe in could be anything that our imagination can create. No one really knows who or what god really is, not for certain at least. But regardless of a god, I believe she or he represents who we should be as a person—kind, loving, respectful.... Just to be a good person."

"How can you say that you don't know who god really is? The bible clearly states—"

"I know what the bible states. But I don't think it's accurate. That's my opinion."

I can see the veins trying to pop out of his forehead. He's frustrated and clearly becoming angry. Audrey nudges him and whispers something in his ear, causing him to relax, "who's ready for dinner? I'm starving," he says.

I inhale a deep breath. Brian seems old-fashioned—in the way that he thinks. I wasn't trying to disrespect his beliefs. But he seems offended by mine.

"You're making daddy upset," Daphne whispers and hops out of her seat. She rushes behind her father, as he walks into the next room.

"I don't think he's ever talked to a woman like you before. It's amazing," Claire shrieks and grins at me. I wonder what that means—he's never talked to a woman like me before? Is she referring to my sexuality or my beliefs?

"Gem, the dining room is over here," Audrey calls for me, standing at the door that connects the two rooms, "Claire, can you put those headphones away?" Claire walks towards her mother and grunts, "thank you."

I follow them, and take the available seat next to Audrey. I notice that there's two empty seats at the table. It has plates and glasses of water in front of them. I wonder if anyone else is joining us tonight.

"Let's say grace, shall we?" Brian notifies. He tilts his head down, including everyone else. I follow their lead and do the same, "thank you, father, for this lovely meal prepared by my wife. May you continue to bless her hands, so that she can continue to spread the joy of her wonderful cooking. And thank you for protecting my children each and every day. My girls mean the world to me, the same way you mean to me. Amen."

Everyone opens their eyes, but mine has been open the entire time. I always like to look at people as they pray. It's an interesting way of idolizing someone's devotion.

"Thanks for inviting me over. I can't remember the last time I had a home cooked meal like this."

"You don't cook?" Brian looks up from his plate. I stretch my jaw, and pick up my fork, "I mean how do you feed yourself?" He tries to play it off with a laugh. No one laughs along with him.

"Brian," Audrey glares at him. He sighs and mouths an apology to his wife. I'm unbothered by his comment. If I take everything to heart, I would be a grumpy, old lady with a stick already. I try to seek positivity within people, even when they're being negative. I was once a very defensive, young woman, but I'm slowly overcoming that.

"I do cook, every now and then. But work has me so busy, and also provides meals. So, I'll never starve, Brian. But thank you for your concern," I notice that Claire is trying to hold back her laughter.

Looking down at my plate, I decide that I should cut the steak into pieces, before I start eating.

"I've been meaning to ask you about your job. Those instagram photos are amazing—mind blowing, actually," Audrey says. I smile and continue slicing my steak.

"Wait, that's her?" Claire asks her mom, "she can't be the one who creates all of that," it's not the first time that I've been underestimated. I finally take a bite of the steak, and look up at everyone.

"Gemma has always been very talented. She did my makeup all the time when we were younger."

"Can you do my makeup? I'd love that puzzle piece face that mom showed me. That one is so good," Claire squeals. She reminds me of a lot of the young girls that I've worked with over the years.

"I bet Gemma has better things to do than to play makeup with you," Brian is focusing on his plate, not looking up at anyone.

"Mom's brows were always too dark," Claire giggles.

Audrey touches a brow and frowns, "I liked it that way."

"Really? You had to realize that it looked awful, since you don't do that anymore," Audrey lets out a huff, "not like you wear a lot of makeup now anyway."

I can't believe that Audrey doesn't wear makeup anymore. She used to be so obsessed with eyeshadow in high school, "my makeup artist went off to college," I glance around the table, realizing that the conversation is back on me.

"Can you teach me? I want to learn to do makeup so badly. All of the girls in my school wear makeup every—"

"We've discussed this before, Claire—not until you turn eighteen," Brian looks at his daughter with narrowed eyes.

"That's unfair. There's nine year old boys that get to wear makeup. And I can't! It's ridiculous."

"We're raising you differently. And those boys are—"

Audrey interjects, "just give it some more time, sweetheart. Enjoy being a kid. It doesn't last forever."

"Mom, I'm not a kid. I'm fifteen already. When are you going to let me live my life?" Brian slams his hand onto the table. My eyes widen, and I look at his clenched fist.

The doorbell rings, causing Audrey to stand from her seat and head to the door, "Claire, your mother and I will talk it over. Can we just have a nice dinner for now, please?" Claire nods and looks down at her plate.

He seems a bit hostile. I look at Daphne. She's sitting quietly and eating. They don't seem terrified of him, but maybe that was the only way to shut Claire up. Not that I think it's the right way to handle it.

I hear voices heading towards us, and my chest tightens. I guess they are having more people over, "Gemma, I have a surprise for you," the sound of Audrey's voice worries me. She walks into the room, with two people following her. I don't recognize their faces.

"Really? What is it?" She grins at me. The two look like a couple. The guy looks at me, and his eyes widen. I can tell that he's surprised to see me. I'm just wondering why. The girl standing beside him places her hand on the crook of his arm, and she's paying attention to Audrey.

"Jack, why don't you tell her?" That name is familiar. I've come across a lot of men with that name, even some women. But there's one Jack in this world that holds a lot of memories inside of my brain.

It can't be him. But it must be...

"Gemma," he scratches the side of his head, "I'm Sabrina's son. You know, that kid who couldn't shut up about Star Wars."

I take a breath, and feel a tension rise in my throat. This is becoming one of those days that I just want to crawl into a hole and die. Not literally...

"You're taller than me now," I stand and walk over to him. I pull him in for a quick hug, and step back, "time really does have a way of flying by."

I'm trying my best to keep my cool. But looking at him reminds me of her. And I don't want to remember.

"Yeah, it's great to see you," I didn't realize that the girl stepped aside. She looks at me with a smile, "this is my wife, Eleanor."

She stretches her hand out, "I've heard quite a few stories about you," I embrace her hand with mine, "it's nice meeting you—Gemma, right?"

I nod. It's unbelievable to see Jack after all this time. It makes me feel guilty that I wasn't there for him while he was growing up. I head back to my seat, and Jack and Eleanor take the unoccupied ones.

"How have you been, Gemma? Gosh, it's been so long," Jack fixes his posture. Getting a better look at him, there's no denying that he is who he says he is. Even in his mannerisms, he reminds me of his parents. And that smile... it's just like his mother's.

I want to sink into my seat and disappear, "I've... um, been great. What about you? How's everything?"

"Well," he clears his throat, "the construction company has been doing good—has me travelling out of town a lot."

I say, "that's great. I still remember when you wanted to be the cashier at Pizza Hut," Jack chuckles, causing his eyes to close. That laugh is just like his father's.

"Those were the days," he sighs and looks around the table, "I'm sorry for being so late. We got held up. I assume prayers have already been said?"

"Yes, but if you wish, you can take a few seconds in silence before you start eating," Brian suggests. I've lost my appetite suddenly.

Dinner continues in silence for a few minutes. I'm taking glances at Jack, hoping it's not obvious. There's this feeling inside of my chest—a feeling of complete loss. I've lost every single person I ever loved—whether it be my family, or the women who'd stolen my heart over the years.

Maybe it's because of this grief stricken day, but I feel nauseous knowing that there's not anyone left with me.

And I'm relieved that no one is bringing up anything about my dead grandfather.

"Gemma, I've got another surprise for you," Audrey stands and heads into the kitchen.

"Lots of surprises tonight," Claire mumbles. She looks aimlessly at her plate, while she sneaks her headphone bud back into her ear, and hides it with her hair.

"How do you know each other?" I question. Audrey knew Jack and his parents from me introducing them years ago, but I didn't know that they kept in contact. It's a bit startling.

Jack swallows, and picks up the napkin in front of him to wipe his mouth, "Eleanor and Audrey are in the same book club. It didn't take long for us to realize that Audrey is your Audrey."

"Audrey invited me and my husband," Eleanor tilts her head to the side, where Jack is, "to dinner one night. They recognized one another, and the rest is history."

"How lovely," I smile.

"Mom would be so happy to see you. I think she's stalked you for years," Eleanor giggles, and Jack nudges her. She furrows her brows, seemingly confused.

I want to roll my eyes, but instead, I take a bite of my steak to occupy myself.

"Gemma, since you're my best friend—" I still am? When I notice the pan that she places onto the table, my anxiousness to leave retreats. I think I love her.

"How did I ever live without you?" I gawk at the honey banana bread. I don't want anyone else to look at it or touch it. But I must share, right?

"I wonder the same everyday," she cuts me a gigantic slice, and plops it onto a plate. When she hands it to me, the intoxicating smell almost makes me drool.

I can hear everyone giggling around the table. But no one's going to ruin this for me.

"This is so good," I chew and moan.

"You might be the only one that thinks so. I had to take it off the menu because no one likes it."

I look around the table, noticing that everyone is looking at me amused. I can't understand why no one would like it. It's the best thing in the world.

"Then, I'll buy the recipe," I'm being serious, but Audrey ignores me and laughs.