### Chapter 4 Regrets come in waves—crushing and relentless. If I had the chance to rewrite the past, three deeply etched memories would lead the charge for change. The first is a tale you already know too well: the night with Paili and the ill-fated bath. Oh, how I’d give anything to rewrite that moment, to step out of my door and turn straight towards Parks instead of descending those treacherous stairs. I could have told her everything, spared us both the pain and the heartache that followed. The second regret, let’s just say it lingers like a shadow I’m not quite ready to confront. But the third? Yeah, I know you can guess it. Every time I close my eyes, the image assaults me—Magnolia laid up in that hospital bed, her body a canvas of bruises and cuts, still shrouded in unconsciousness. It twisted something deep inside me; the sight of her so battered was enough to scramble my senses. My heart raced, a frantic drum in my chest, drowning out all rational thought. If only I could pull a curtain across that memory, convince myself she’d be okay, that we’d come through this without scars—if only I could remind my past self to recall everything else. Like the moment Bridget sat in that chair, still dressed in clothes that carried the weight of the crash. A thin line torn on her lip, a restless trickle of blood from her arm, and a slight mark on her forehead. She looked well enough, all things considered. Tired, yes, but fine. And I, in all my foolhardiness, told her to leave. Claire and I have dissected this moment, how the doctors had already given her a clean bill of health—I’m not a healer; how was I supposed to know? It’s a fair question, perhaps, but deep down, I feel I should have seen it. Because I’ve known her for all her life. I should have recognized the signs, the signs that were so painfully there. Did you know I was Bridget’s first kiss? Odd how the mind drifts to lighter memories amidst the darkness. It was one of those typical Sunday nights just before we were set to return to Varley. Magnolia and I were sprawled across her bed, the TV flickering shadows across the room, when Bridget wandered past the door. “Bridget!” Magnolia’s voice rang out, her tone a mix of curiosity and mischief. “What?” came Bridget’s response, her expression caught between indifference and mild annoyance, ever the sisterly exchange that stretched as far back as their childhood. With a knowing smile, Magnolia propped herself up, her eyes glinting with mischief. “So, at that party last night, did you and Dean Vinograd—the hottest guy in school—actually play seven minutes in heaven? Only for you to not kiss him at all? The entire time?” I stifled a chuckle, watching as Bridget shifted her weight awkwardly, crossing her arms defensively. “So what if I did?” A teasing glint danced in Magnolia’s eyes. “Why wouldn’t you? It’s just a kiss.” Bridget hesitated, her eyes darting to the ground. “Right?” Magnolia’s brow raised and her expression turned serious. “You’ve never kissed anyone before?” Bridget’s posture sank slightly, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I just—I haven’t—” She took a deep breath, her fear cloaked beneath bravado. “And now I’m—” Scared, it was written all over her face. “That’s fine,” I interjected, offering her a reassuring nod. “It really is.” “Is it really?” she blinked, uncertainty swirling in her eyes. “Definitely,” I affirmed. “No, it’s not,” Magnolia pouted. “It’s totally weird.” Bridget’s eyebrows knitted together, “It’s just that I don’t want to look stupid.” “You couldn’t,” I told her earnestly. “Oh, you definitely could,” Magnolia chimed in, her tone laced with sarcasm. “Seriously?” Bridget retorted, her face heating up. “What if it was bad, and he hated it? What if he told everyone and then I was the big loser?” Magnolia scrunched her face, attempting to incite a grin. “What if you had the chance to kiss the hottest guy and you didn’t? What kind of loser would that make you?” “I didn’t know what to do!” Bridget shot back. In an uncharacteristic moment of bravery, I blurted, “I’ll kiss you.” Bridget’s eyes went wide. “What?” “Yeah, I’ll just kiss her,” I shrugged nonchalantly, glancing at Magnolia, who looked absolutely horrified at the proposition. “Then it’s done, and you can move on. No more fear.” Bridget scrutinized me with a mix of indignation and curiosity. “I didn’t say I was scared.” “Oh, but were you?” I pressed. “Maybe,” she admitted, hesitantly pinching her fingertips together. Magnolia, now sitting upright, gasped, “Wait! You’re going to kiss her?” “It’s just a kiss,” I reassured, my gaze steady on Parks, silently coaxing her to see the humor in the situation. Magnolia’s shock began to fade as she registered my sincerity. “My sister?” she asked incredulously. “Just a kiss,” I whispered, glancing back to Bridget. “Ready?” Bridget took a deep breath, nodding, her resolve strengthening. “It’s nothing,” I reiterated, sliding my hand behind her head to close the space between us. With a gentle yet firm motion, I pressed my lips to hers—a brief kiss that was meant to alleviate her fears. There were no fireworks or dramatic crescendos. Just a simple moment, two souls meeting awkwardly for the first time. But to Bridget, I hoped it would mean everything. Suddenly, Harley stormed past the open door, his voice booming, “What the fuck?” Magnolia screamed, Bridget yelped, and in an instant, Harley barreled towards me, shoving me away from his fourteen-year-old daughter. Fair enough, I thought, not entirely certain how to react. “No, no!” Magnolia interjected, her voice frantic. “Wait!” “What in the absolute hell is going on in here?” He shot a glare between Magnolia and me, fury flaring in his eyes. “Nothing!” Magnolia rushed, shaking her head vigorously. “Bridget’s just being a big loser, that’s all—!” Harley’s breathing hitched as he zeroed in on his eldest daughter’s wild-eyed expression. “What?” Bridget, recovering from the shock, rushed to clarify, “Because of Dean Vinograd!” “Who?” Harley looked baffled. “In the closet!” Magnolia exclaimed, her eyes wide with urgency. Harley’s face contorted in confusion. “What?” “Super embarrassing,” Magnolia seized the moment to glare at Bridget. “She just freaked—” “Who freaked?” I interjected, pointing at Bridget who nodded resolutely. “Sullying my good name!” Magnolia said, her tone melodramatic, as she acknowledged her father with a mocking nod. “And yours too, I suppose, Dad.” He gestured to himself in disbelief. “My good name?” Both sisters nodded fervently, their eyes wide like children caught in the act. “Absolutely sullied!” Magnolia insisted, her sincerity almost comical. “Uh-huh,” Bridget echoed, glancing back at me, a silent plea for support. Even in the chaos, I couldn’t help but admire how they presented a united front between me and their father, as if I stood a chance against Harley if he chose to retaliate. Harley was not one of those fathers who embraced having daughters like others did. He didn’t fit the ‘girl-dad’ mold, and his face was a mix of bewilderment as he tried to comprehend what had just unfolded. “So, you have a good track record for kissing people in closets?” Harley’s voice dripped with disbelief. Bridget’s lips formed an ‘o’ shape, while Magnolia’s mouth fell open in shock. “Um…” Magnolia fumbled over her words, clearing her throat in a desperate bid to recover. “No?” But her pitch shot up, painting a picture of guilt. “Yeah, no…” I interjected, stepping between them as if I could somehow mitigate the whirlwind. “We—actually… we’ve never even hooked up—” Harley raised an eyebrow, his skepticism palpable. “Uh-huh.” I panicked, “She’s, like, super uptight… We’ve done nothing—” “I am not!” Magnolia shouted, slapping my arm. Unable to gauge how to keep things light, I continued, “I’m just saying—man to man—” But Harley’s expression darkened further, conflict etching lines on his forehead. “I hate this,” he breathed out, sounding exasperated. I offered him a sheepish grin, shrugging my shoulders like a petulant child caught in a storm. “Yeah, same,” I muttered. He just shook his head in disbelief as he exited the room, leaving us behind. Once he was gone, the tension evaporated, and the three of us collapsed onto Parks’ bed, laughter bubbling up between us. But I can’t fool myself. It wasn’t just a shared joke; I didn’t hate any of it. Never have, never will. That memory—etched in time—brought me joy, even now, as I think back to it. By the time Magnolia and I sat on the brink of our engagement, even Harley found humor in the chaos of that day. God, I miss her. And so now, this gnawing truth lodges itself firmly in my chest: my third great regret is knowing that Bridget is gone, and I’ll forever ponder if maybe, just maybe, we could have saved her.