"Nothing." She sniffed once. "I just thought I'd make you and your dad dinner—kind of like a thank you, for yesterday, I guess." She shrugged, looking right at me.

 And for some reason I couldn't fucking say no.

 "Dad's not home, but I eat enough for two people." I opened the front door for her and led her to the kitchen. She placed the bags on the counter. I smiled at her, "What are you making? I'm starving."

 "Pasta. It's pretty much the only thing I can cook." She started emptying the bags.

 I excused myself and left the room so I could text Amanda. I don't know why, but I didn't want Micky to know that I had plans. I didn't want her to think that it wasn't okay for her to be there.

 Logan: Hey. I'm really sorry to do this...something came up and I can't make it. I'll call you later though. Promise.

 When I got back into the kitchen, she had two pots on the stove and the burners on. She looked up when I walked in, giving me that same awkward smile. I sat on the island and watched her. I didn't know what to say to her, so the whole situation was a little off. But she was there for a reason, which was enough to make me sit and wait. She looked up from whatever she was cutting and faced me. "So, yesterday, with Jake—that was something, huh?"

 I blew out a breath. "Yeah, it was definitely something."

 "You didn't tell him what happened." It was a statement.

 I shook my head, "It's not my place, Micky."

 She looked at me for a long time, our eyes locked, neither looking away. Who knows how long we stood there, watching each other, until finally, she looked back down. Then she spoke; "Jake, he's a great guy..." she trailed off.

 "One of the best." I said

 She was still looking down, chopping whatever was in front of her. "Yeah, he really is. But what happens...I mean, what happens to me, if something happens to us?" her voice broke. When she looked up at me, there were tears in her eyes again.

 I slowly got off the stool and moved to stand in front of her. "What's going on, Micky?" I bent slightly so I could look at her face.

 "I've only known him a month. I mean, I know I have feelings for him, Logan. But what happens if he decides he doesn't like me. I'll have no one. It'll be like that night all over again. You know...prom night. He can't be all I have. I can't go through that loss again." She broke down and hugged herself. "And I miss them, Logan. I miss my family so fucking much and I can't tell him that. I can't talk to him about it because he'll think that he's not doing enough to help me, but it's not about him. It's not about..." Her body fell into mine and she cried. Loud, uncontrollable cries.

 I moved us so we were sitting on the floor and were face to face, and I let her cry.

 "I miss them so fucking much," she continued. "And I miss James, and I even miss Megan. And it's not that I want those two back in my life, I just miss the times, you know? And my sister, Emily, I miss her the most. I always thought she was this pain in my ass, but I miss her the fucking most. I miss her laugh and I miss how we used to make fun of Dad, and I miss the way Mom smiled at us when we did it. I miss the way Dad would always make us breakfast and ...I just miss them." Her tears fell endlessly as she wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "I'm so sorry, Logan. Shit, I didn't come here to put all this on you. Swear it."

  She looked up at me. I hadn't said a word. I don't think I could have said anything through the knot in my throat and that God damn ache in my chest.

 "It's just—it's been hard. Like, really fucking hard. It's not like I lost one parent, and the other was there to help me get through it. And even though I'm an adult I'm still a child...am I? If I don't have parents am I still someone's child? Oh my God. I'm not ready to do this."

 She started to cry harder.

 "It's not fucking fair, Logan." She was almost yelling now. "It's not fair. It's not right and it's not fucking fair. I shouldn't have to wake up one random day and have nothing—and I feel like I can't tell the only person I have in my life any of this because he doesn't get it. He doesn't understand that I just need to miss them, and that he can't fix it. He want's to make sure that I'm okay all the time, and that's great. That's perfect. But sometimes I just need to feel not okay." She couldn't control her breathing anymore.

 We were both sitting against the island. I put my arm around her and held her to me. She leaned in and rested her head on my chest. "I just need to feel not okay, Logan. I just need to feel the hurt. All of it. And I don't know that I want him to see that."

 I don't know what I was supposed to say. If I was supposed to say anything at all. But I got it. I knew exactly how she felt. Because I'd felt it too. So I told her.

 "Micky, I'm adopted."

 She instantly stopped crying and pulled her head off my chest, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

 "Alan, who you met yesterday—he adopted me, when I was a seven. He was the doctor that was working the ER the night my birth mother bought me in. My birth dad—he beat me pretty bad that night."

 She gasped.

 "I mean, he used to beat me all the time, so I guess it must have been pretty bad, because she took me to hospital..."

 "Oh my God." She looked at me, her eyes huge, her hand covering her mouth, tears still falling.

 "Yeah, Dad...uh...Alan...he saved me that night, and every night since then. My birth mom, she never came back for me. They waited a month. She never came."

 "Oh my God, Logan," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

 "No one knows, Micky. Just you. And I didn't tell you because I wanted your pity. I told you because..." I took a deep breath and thought about my next words. "I told you because I get it. I get what it's like to feel like you depend too much on one person. I felt like that with Alan. I still feel like that, every day. But I couldn't have done it without him, and I think we all need someone to be our strength sometimes, and if you don't want that to be Jake, then you can let that be me...if you want to, I mean. Look, I just... " I blew out a breath. She sat and listened to everything I said. "I just wanted to tell you that I get it. I know what it's like to wake up one day and have nothing—"

 "It's not the same—" she started.

 I interrupted her. "I know it's not the same, Micky. I know your family died...I'm stupid, I shou—"

 "No, Logan." It was her turn to interrupt me. "It's not the same because my family died, I can't see them ever again. You can see yours, but they're that bad a people that you wouldn't want to. It's not the same because I'll always have good memories of my parents and you—you don't even have that." Her voice broke. I held her tighter. Her arms went around me.

 I took in her words and let them sink in.

 I never thought of my birth parents as a memory. As something I could bring out when I wanted to. And I never thought hard enough for a good memory of them. And even if I did, I don't know that there would be any.