I'm not sure what to expect when I step outside the restaurant. Part of me wants to run because that's what our friend group does best, but now that time has allotted us a chance to breathe, my heart sings for her. Time doesn't erase what feels like an eternity of friendship, and the mistakes I've made do nothing to diminish the love.

My heart disconnects from my lungs as I feel my breath pick up speed. Slowly, I convince myself to calm down and walk toward her. Time slows and spins around until the good and bad times alternate like crashing waves racing toward the shore.

"Hi," she mumbles. From inside the restaurant, she looked so big and intimidating. Up close, she's smaller and more fragile. "Sorry to interrupt but when I saw you, this felt like one of those take-it-or-leave-it moments."

I almost laugh because if I was in her position, I probably would have the same reaction. Our friendship was a cloud of dust waiting to be blown away in the wind. This was a moment to reach out with our hands and catch it before we lost it for good.

"Um..." I look around for somewhere quieter so the two of us can talk but we are in the middle of a mall, so that ideal setting is few and far between. The closest acceptable choice is a bench off to the side near the escalators. "Do you want to talk over there?"

Emmie looks at me like she's in a daze before quickly nodding. She waits for me to walk first, almost as if she's afraid I'll run away if she takes her eyes off me for too long.

For a moment, I can almost pretend like it's old times again, the two of us hanging out at the mall together. The number of times we have braved an hour-long bus ride to walk around the mall and not buy anything because we were broke high schoolers is too high to count. Or when we finally did have jobs but still didn't buy anything because we were still broke, just an adult version of it.

The conversation with Heather rings through my ears, reminding me that this girl in front of me somehow wants to move on with me. Even as I tell myself I don't deserve her forgiveness, I wait with bated breath for it, as desperate to hear those words as I've wanted anything else. Just because I don't deserve it, doesn't mean I don't, to some extent, want it.

"How have you been?" she asks.

I have to laugh. "Alright, I guess. All things considered."

Emmie rolls her lips together and nods. "Your dad? Anthony?"

"They're alright." Or as alright as we can ever be. Our family is still rolling around as mindlessly as we were when she was still around. In some regards, that part of my life never changed. If she walks back into it, she'll feel like she's walking back through a time machine.

"That's good." She nods again, the movement jerky and unsure of itself. "I was worried about all of you the entire time I was gone."

My body tenses up at this confession and Emmie notices right away. It's easier to pretend the time spent apart wasn't as debilitating when we're not actively speaking about it.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. None of you owe me an explanation."

It's not that she's owed an explanation, but it feels natural to give her one. Speaking to each other now reminds me of how easily we used to share our lives, and how painful the past two years have been without her.

"It's alright. I don't mind. I know they don't either," I tell her, unsure of what else I'm supposed to say. I'm at the mercy of the woman in front of me. "What did you want to talk about?"

Emmie looks at me for a moment before releasing a shaky breath that rattles even the uncertainty in my chest.

I used to wonder what a future with the two of us would look like. When people ask me about where I see myself in ten, maybe even twenty years, it's almost always a specific answer they're looking for—a significant other, the perfect number of kids, a house to call my own, the career choice of my dreams.

What people don't expect is the way I'm so excited to experience the rest of my life with my friends, because a chosen family is as important to most as one bonded by DNA. For many people, it's the only family they have, so I understand the significance of having a group of friends that I can call my own, even if we've splintered off at this point.

I always imagined a long future with her. To have a friend that can be by my side through every trial and tribulation. Someone that will offer me the kind of support that only a best friend can.

All the words left unsaid linger between the two of us and I know these unresolved feelings will leave the deepest scar on my heart if I walk away from her without making sense of any of it. Regardless of the little spats we've had over the years, we always come back together. Because a wave does not break from the shore forever, nor does a soul truly depart from its purest companionship.

"Remember what I told you at the party?" she asks as if it is even possible I could forget. "I know you didn't want to listen to me but I meant what I said. Every single word. What happened between you and Zach—I didn't get it back then but I understand now. And I'm ready to move forward."

The emotional part of me wants to jump at the opportunity, but I know it's not as simple as accepting an offer. Change only happens when we confront our problems head-on, not brush our unresolved feelings aside, waiting for them to resurface again.

"What exactly changed? What makes it make sense to you now?"

Some things never make sense, and disbelief rises in me that she can so easily act like this isn't one of those things.

Emmie is quick to respond like she's had the answer to this question rehearsed. "Time. It gives you a different perspective on things you might not have gotten otherwise."

This time, it's me who needs to look away. "And what did that perspective give you?"

"What you did wasn't the best, but as someone I've always considered my best friend in the entire world, I should've given you a better chance to explain yourself. And that very fact is why I know I screwed up."

I shut my eyes. A million things run through my head and all of them are telling me how much I hate myself for the fact that she genuinely thinks she's at fault here. "Emmie, I slept with your boyfriend. I didn't deserve the chance to explain myself."

"Stop," she scolds with more force than I expect, stopping me in my tracks. "He wasn't my boyfriend anymore. I know that seems trivial because we still shared a past but it's still important to remember. And stop trying to downplay what happened between the two of you so you can make yourself feel worse about it. He was my ex-boyfriend when it happened and had been for a long time."

"Do you think that makes it any better?" I cry. "Once things started heading in that direction, I felt guilty about it every second of every day. And I still did all of it anyway. That makes me a bad person."

Calum was right to be worried. Having a self-destructive nature is in the very way I carry myself through life. I can tell myself how much I want to move forward with Emmie, and in the same breath try to push her away again because it's so hard to accept that maybe, just maybe, I deserve a second chance at happiness even after all of the mistakes I have made.

Before she speaks again, Emmie purses her lips and narrows her eyes in frustration.

"Why does a past relationship get to define a future where it doesn't exist?"

I pause and look back at her. "What?"

"You give so much importance to this relationship the two of us willingly walked away from. You let it define what you deem an appropriate way to stay in both of our lives as individuals. And, quite frankly, I think it's unfair to all involved. If I'm telling you I don't care anymore that it happened, why should you?"

My immediate reaction is to argue with her that certain boundaries should never be crossed, but it fades away as I realize it feeds into what she's already telling me.

"Why can't I decide I'm okay with what happened? I don't care if everyone else in the world tells me I shouldn't forgive you, 'cause I do," she barrels on, not allowing me the chance to talk myself out of reach.

This forgiveness I never found myself worthy of is such a long time coming, and the weight it lifts off my chest allows me the chance to take a breath deeper than any I've taken in the past two years.

"You fell in love with someone that, despite what happened between us, I consider a great guy. One who deserved better than what I ever gave him. I'm not going to hate you forever for that. And you shouldn't either. I won't allow you to. Even if you hate me for it, I'll force you to be okay with what happened."

Before I have the chance to respond, Emmie wraps up in a hug that feels like stepping off the plane after arriving back home from a long trip. I don't reciprocate at first. But when Emmie squeezes tighter and I hear the quiet cry release, I instinctively put my arms around her, thankful for the warmth that envelops me with her touch.

"I'm sorry," I tell her for what feels like the millionth time. Most of them were whispered into the emptiness she left behind in her place, but she managed to catch a few of them before she escaped to Seattle.

"It's okay," she repeats, as many times as she needs to until I start to believe it.

The forgiveness still feels undeserved and I know it'll take some time to come to terms with what happened, but I allow myself a moment of happiness because I don't have it in me anymore to deny it.

"We'll work through this," she murmurs into my ear. "I promise. There's no life of mine worth living without you in it."