"Who's the one that got away?"

"I don't know want to know all the sordid details," said Abbie, "but everyone's got random skeletons in their closet."

"Skeletons?" said Jake.

"You've never heard that expression?" asked Abbie. "It means ... like dirty secrets. Stuff from the past that you want to forget. Usually people think of their foolish teenage flings or college hookups. Or maybe serious exes. Any of that."

Jake nodded. "Nope, never heard that term before. But okay. What's the actual question?"

"Is there anyone from your past who you kind of wish was still in your life? A fling or a girlfriend or whatever who you think, wow, maybe that should have been the one?" Abbie looked at him quite sincerely. This was a deeper question purely about Jake, and not really something he could deflect and make about her.

Jake took a deep breath. "That's a heavy one. Um ... Let's see ..." He thought for a while, and they drove in silence.

"Come on, Jake. You can't just stall and hope we get there, and then you don't have to answer."

"No! I'm not trying to, honest." Jake nodded and focused on coming up with an answer.

"You don't have to go too deep, just ... you know, something."

Jake glanced at Abbie, and then back at the road. "Okay. Junior year of college. So like ... six years ago? Seven? I was having a tough time in school, thought about dropping out, losing motivation to work and stuff. I was 20, what did I know? Anyway. I went to a party at another school. I went with a friend, he knew someone at the other school, but I didn't know anyone. We got there, it was like a frat house or something. Kinda dark, loud music. Not really my scene, but I wasn't too picky, I guess. About parties, that is."

"You're picky about other things now?" said Abbie mischievously.

Jake smiled at her. "You know it."

"I'm going to pretend that you mean me, and I'm going to take it and appreciate it and save it right here." Abbie patted her heart.

"Right ... where?" asked Jake.

"Mm," Abbie hummed. She lowered her hands down to her lap and tapped herself between the legs. "Right here." She grinned.

Jake nodded. "Better. Anyway. This party was fine, nothing special. I had a couple beers. The place was maybe an hour from my campus, and I was driving, so I didn't want to get drunk or anything. But as the night went on, I sort of lost track of my friend. I wound up hanging out in the backyard. People were playing ping-pong, then it turned into beer pong. I was watching, but then there was this girl there, also watching."

"Did you know her?"

"Nope. Didn't even see her come into the picture. But kind of out of nowhere, she said, 'I don't understand this game.' I wasn't even sure she was talking to me. I looked over, and she glanced up at me. 'Do you?' she asked me." Jake paused as he thought back on the story. "I haven't really thought about that night in a while."

"Seven years ago is a long time," said Abbie jokingly.

"Hey, you were still in high school, so you know, whatever."

Abbie giggled. "Oh boy, was I ever. Anyway, go on."

"So I was a little tipsy, but this girl was cute. I started babbling about the game, and honestly, made up all the rules. I was saying nothing logical, it was all just random. Things like, 'It certainly doesn't make sense with ping pong balls and beer. Where I come from, it's live squirrels in makeshift hazmat suits being catapulted into vats of molten steel.' It wasn't even funny, it was just stupid. But she giggled, and I'm a sucker. We watched about two more minutes of beer pong, and then she just took my hand and pulled me away from the crowd."

Abbie stayed focused on Jake, taking in the story.

"We walked away, around the back of the frat house, but she didn't let go of my hand. I'm not sure why I didn't think it was weird at the time. Or maybe I did think so. I guess it was weird. I mean, we just walked for a bit. Then she said, 'I don't even go to this school,' which I thought was pretty funny, because I didn't either. I didn't ask where she had come from, and she didn't ask me. Instead, she started kind of talking about philosophy. She had this theory about human existence -- maybe it was a joke or maybe she was crazy, but at the time, it really resonated with me. Her theory was sort of the idea that the world around us is only what we see, and that nothing exists except for that. Something like that because sight and sound and touch and all is just our brain telling us what's there, that we could, if we wanted, trick our minds to see and feel anything."

"Wow," said Abbie quietly.

"And that maybe we're all just kind of manipulating our realities into what we think we should be seeing, even if it's not what's actually out there." Jake paused to hear himself tell the story. "Boy, it sounds kind of nuts, repeating it."

"No," said Abbie. "It sounds fascinating, actually."

"Does it? Oh, cool," said Jake. "Halfway through sharing her theory, we stopped walking. We were like a block away from the frat house by this point. I asked if we should turn back. She said that there was a field, a soccer field or something, if we kept walking a little further, so we did. We got to the soccer field and the gate was open. I have no idea how she knew. Maybe she lived in the neighborhood? Anyway, we went onto the field, and then wound up sitting down at the circle at midfield. It was very clear night, and we sat there looking at the stars for a while."

"Did you say anything?"

Jake took a breath. "Well, yeah. That's the part that's harder to share. But I guess, whatever."

"You don't have to."

"No, it's fine. We were looking at the stars, and I don't know why I brought this up, but kind of out of nowhere, I told her that I had a brother that had died."

"Wait, is that true?"

Jake looked at Abbie. "Yes."

"I didn't know that. I'm so sorry, Jake."

"It's okay, Abbie. I didn't tell you. But it's okay."

"No, I'm sorry, I don't mean to push you into something you don't want to talk about."

Jake patted her hand. "I'm okay, really. It was almost ten years ago. But at that time, it was like a couple months earlier, so he was on my mind all the time."

Abbie took his hand and squeezed it.

"So I told this girl about my brother. She kept looking at the stars, and asked me, 'Do you believe in heaven?' I told her that no, I didn't. I guess that's new information for you, too, right?"

Abbie squeezed his hand again and whispered, "I don't either."

"So I told her no, and she said, 'Good.' And then I asked her, 'Why, were you going to tell me that my brother was up in those stars looking down at me?' She sighed, and said, 'No. I was going to tell you that if the stars ever made you think of your brother, that's better than any imaginary heaven anyway.' I asked her, 'What's the point of heaven anyway, when memories keep people alive?' We were quiet again for a bit. And then she asked me my favorite memory of my brother. I told her about this one time I watched him play baseball in high school. It was a big game, a tie game, and he was up with runners on, and a hit would be enough to score a run and win the game. He took the at bat to like nine or ten pitches, and then he struck out. Swing and a miss, so totally on him. He walked slowly back to the dugout. He dropped his helmet and bat -- and then went straight to the rail of the dugout to scream and cheer for the next hitter. He let it go so quickly, let his own unsuccessful at bat just vanish, and he became the cheerleader for the next guy. And the next guy got a hit, and they scored, and they won, and my brother was the first one on the field to congratulate his teammates and to hug them and all that."

"That's a sweet memory," said Abbie.

"And so that night on the soccer field, I was still processing my grief over my brother. And when this girl told me that he wasn't in the stars, but that the stars made me think of him, it made me realize that remembering him was the motivation I needed. Not because he was like amazingly inspiring or anything, or even that that baseball game was something unique. I think at that time, all my thoughts about him were sad and brooding -- but I kind of turned a corner there, and now the memory I bring up in my mind when I want to think about him is that baseball game. And I look at the sky sometimes -- not because of a heaven thing, but because I'm reminded that he's in my mind, and the memories bring me comfort."

Abbie sighed with a shudder. "Jake, that made me tear up. That's such a lovely story."

Jake exhaled slowly. "Yeah, so the timing and everything, I have a lot of association between my good feelings around my brother and that night on the soccer field."

"And the girl?"

"Oh," Jake laughed. "Yeah, we stared at the stars for a while. We lay back on the grass and held hands, and just stared at the stars."

Abbie waited. "And?"

"And ... nothing."

"Wait, that's it?" Abbie couldn't believe the story was over.

"Is that bad?" asked Jake.

"No, it's not bad. It's fine. I'm just ... surprised. In my mind, this story ended with sex."

"Abbie," said Jake, "in your mind, every story ends with sex."

Abbie cackled. "Yeah, that's true."

"And ... okay, this one ends with a little fooling around. We got a little kissy and a little handsy, but that was it."

Abbie nodded. "Good, I'm glad there was at least something. Did you ever see her again?"

Jake shook his head. "No. I never even knew her name. At like 2am, we got up from the soccer field and walked back to the frat house. We went inside the front door, she was behind me. I saw my friend in the kitchen, and when I turned back to tell the girl, she was gone."

"Gone?"

"Gone. I looked around, but there was no sign of her. I thought about asking around the house, but most of the people still there were sloppy drunk. If I said, 'Anyone see a cute blonde girl with a nose ring?' it would be a, like half the girls at the party, and b, no one would know who I was talking about." Jake paused, then continued. "My friend and I drove home. We stopped at Denny's on the way, had a crappy breakfast at three in the morning. He had hooked up with a girl in the frat house, and she was already texting him. He didn't ask what I had been up to, and I never told him about the soccer field or anything. In fact," Jake stopped to think, "I don't think I've told anyone about that night, until now."

Abbie squeezed Jake's hand again. "I might regret asking this, but ..."

"Yeah?"

"What's your brother's name?"

Jake smiled and then choked up a bit, holding back a tear. "Matt."

"Matt," Abbie repeated.

"Yeah. He got hit by a drunk driver. Summer before his senior year."

Abbie was quiet.

"Hey, I don't want to bring down the mood." Jake shifted his hand position so he could hold Abbie's, and he clenched his fingers around her. "It was eight years ago. I've processed it and grieved and moved on." He looked at her. "Really, Abbie. I know it's new to you, but I'm okay. I promise."

Abbie was clearly moved by the story, and didn't want to rush Jake away from anything he might be feeling.

"How about this," Jake said. "I promise that if I need space or to talk about him or anything, I'll let you know."

Abbie nodded. "Okay, that sounds good."

"Can you bounce back and have fun with me? This weekend has been amazing so far, and I want it to stay that way."

Abbie wasn't sure how truthful her answer was, but she was determined to try. "Yes, of course, Jake. Yes." As she patted his hand, he smiled at her, and she thought back to the joke she made about keeping him in her heart, and just how truthful that actually was.