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    It Ends with Us: A Novel
    It Ends with Us: A Novel
    It Ends with Us: A Novel
    Ebook390 pages6 hours

    It Ends with Us: A Novel

    By Colleen Hoover

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    NOW A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE STARRING BLAKE LIVELY AND JUSTIN BALDONI!

    From the #1 New York Times bestselling author of It Starts with Us and All Your Perfects, a “brave and heartbreaking novel that digs its claws into you and doesn’t let go, long after you’ve finished it” (Anna Todd, New York Times bestselling author) about a young woman in a new relationship who can’t stop thinking about her first love.

    Lily hasn’t always had it easy, but that’s never stopped her from working hard for the life she wants. She’s come a long way from the small town where she grew up—she graduated from college, moved to Boston, and started her own business. And when she feels a spark with a gorgeous neurosurgeon named Ryle Kincaid, everything in Lily’s life seems too good to be true.

    Ryle is assertive, stubborn, maybe even a little arrogant. He’s also sensitive, brilliant, and has a total soft spot for Lily. And the way he looks in scrubs certainly doesn’t hurt. Lily can’t get him out of her head. But Ryle’s complete aversion to relationships is disturbing. Even as Lily finds herself becoming the exception to his “no dating” rule, she can’t help but wonder what made him that way in the first place.

    As questions about her new relationship overwhelm her, so do thoughts of Atlas Corrigan—her first love and a link to the past she left behind. He was her kindred spirit, her protector. When Atlas suddenly reappears, everything Lily has built with Ryle is threatened.

    An honest, evocative, and tender novel, It Ends with Us is “a glorious and touching read, a forever keeper. The kind of book that gets handed down” (USA TODAY).
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAtria Books
    Release dateAug 2, 2016
    ISBN9781501110375
    Author

    Colleen Hoover

    Colleen Hoover is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of more than twenty-three novels, including It Starts with Us, It Ends with Us, All Your Perfects, Ugly Love, and Verity. Colleen lives in Texas with her husband and their three boys. For more information, please visit ColleenHoover.com.

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    Reviews for It Ends with Us

    4.5/5

    6,358 ratings423 reviews

    What our readers think

    Readers find this title to be a touching and life-changing story that explores the complexities of forgiveness and domestic violence. The book is beautifully written and has a great story that captivates readers. While some reviewers felt that the book could have been longer and better written, overall, it is a gem worth reading. The characters are relatable and take readers on an emotional roller coaster. The author tackles a difficult issue with insight and provides a thought-provoking view. Despite some flaws, this book is highly recommended for its heartfelt moments and powerful storytelling.

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

    • 5/5
      The story is good. However, you have to be open-minded. It delves into life experiences and how it shapes us... mind, body, and spirit. These are major influencers to the person we ultimately become. We can choose to let our inner demons control who we are or break the cycle. If you see this story as one that condones abuse, you'll miss the overall meaning. Getting out of an abusive situation isn't quite as simple, but the story as a whole was good.

      Side note: The movie was terrible. It completely ignored huge chunks in the story. It missed the point. Lively was the worst actress for the part as she sorely lacks the ability to sink into the role of an average human being. I felt like it was more a fashion show for her. On that note, how did this simple flower shop owner become a runway model at night? Her personalities gave me whiplash. I could go on forever.
    • 5/5
      4.5] i'd obviously heard so much discourse about this book online before i got round to reading it, but i really wanted to give it a fair chance and form my own opinions on it before reading ton much into the others. it definitely opened my eyes and made me consider a lot of things. i was even rethinking my own [preformed] opinions, i loved it (so much i changed from 4 to 4.5 stars)!!
    • 5/5
      I wasn't expecting to like this book as much as I did. But it was really good and a very quick read. I know people can be critical about the writing, but if someone can write a book that I just get sucked into and I don't even realize the pages are going by and going by, then that says something. I did get sucked into this book and took a turn that I wasn't expecting it to. I didn't realize this was about domestic violence and not the over the top stories or books that you typically read. It shows how hard it can be to leave someone. How they make a mistake and they apologize and you think it will be OK. It was just a one-time thing. And everything is OK for quite some time, and then something happens again. She gave him three tries before she finally leaves him. And the drama that ensues. And she's pregnant with this kid. Atlas plays a part too, her love from when she was very young. And if Riley wasn't such an asshole, it wouldn't have been a thing. But because he was...well. I read the second book so I can't remember where one ends and the other starts....hahahah get it. Starts...ends. Oh well. I enjoyed this book and then even more when the afterward says it's based on her mom's life.
    • 4/5
      The first three-quarters of the book is your ordinary chick lit. Maybe not so ordinary as you seldom read about domestic abuse in the relationship of a young and good-looking couple. The book came into its own when Lily Bloom took the courageous decision to cut the cycle of abuse and break up with Ryle. She didn't want to end up like her mother, who bore a lifetime of domestic abuse till the death of her husband. Aside from the main storyline of Lily and Bloom, I also like the subplot of Lily and her mom. She told her mom that she froze when giving her father's eulogy but she didn't fool her. Her mother knew it was because her daughter did not have a good thing to say about him.
    • 5/5
      Maybe This Can Help You
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    • 4/5
      Very well written story that is based on a true story (some parts not all).
    • 5/5
      Full of triggers but still I wonderful book. I recommend it.
    • 5/5
      Really touch my heart, this story like real... and I adore how Lily can make right decision to cut off all pain moment only for her.
    • 5/5
      Jamas pense el giro que tomaria esa novela, su final me conmocionó hasta las lagrimas. Sin duda lo recomendare!
    • 5/5
      I really love how the author hooked me in as a reader! The way this is written is amazing and this is the first book I’ve read written by the author and I plan to read many more by her. I read this as an ebook and plan to get a physical copy, because I love it so much!
    • 5/5
      This book was so good and made me cry and wanna be strong in my relationship. It touched my soul love it !
    • 5/5
      Just overall a fabulous read definitely relatable and I recommend reading it
    • 5/5
      A must read!! I started this book at 1am and finished it in 24 hours. I could not quit reading it. I absolutely loved it.
    • 5/5
      This book is amazingly good. It draws you in from beginning to end with a moving story of a woman who faced the most terrifying thing: being hopelessly in love with her abuser. It’s extraordinary. It captivated me from start to finish. 100% recommended.
    • 5/5
      A must read before seeing the movie. Another great book from Colleen Hoover.
    • 1/5
      I‘m very surprised that this rather dull, foreseeable and boring as well as poorly written book has become such a success. The one good thing about it is, it has gotten many people (back) into reading.
    • 5/5
      Loved this book, now looking forward to watch the movie l!
    • 5/5
      Lily’s story is insightful, heartbreaking, liberating, and captivating. I loved this book so much and recommend anyone read it!
    • 2/5
      abusers are rarely good coparents and don’t readily accept “I’m leaving” as an answer. unrealistic, but E for Effort
    • 5/5
      I just finished this read and I literally shed a tear!!! Now I’m moving on to it Starts with Us.
    • 4/5
      Beautifully written. I didn’t know what this book was about going into it (I thought it was going to be a fun girly pop Summer romance book), but when I got to that first kitchen scene, my heart dropped into my chest because I try and steer clear of books/movies/etc. regarding DV. I have revolting trauma regarding DV (unfortunately, in the same capacity as Lily regarding her childhood and her own marriage), and I almost shut the book right there, but I was so in love with Ryle’s character at that point, I wanted to see if they could work passed it (are my character defects becoming apparent yet?) This book portrayed the complexities of these imperative issues beautifully and I was able to make my way to the end of the story (a load of tears, albeit), but I’m feeling hopeful about moving onto the next book. ?
    • 5/5
      Finished the book within 2 days. For someone who dealt with a similar situation, Colleen offers those who haven’t had a chance to feel and experience first hand the physical abuse from someone you love and the hardest decision that follows, to stay or leave.
    • 5/5
      This is the most relatable book that I have read in my life. It's sad to say relatable because I can't imagine how many women (or men) go through something so similar. The ending was beautiful because she chose to love herself and to save her daughter from what she went through during her childhood. She is ending the abuse and thinking about her life with her daughter. Not taking any chances. I did the same with my life, I ended it 5 years later. It's hard to end it but you have to know when enough is enough. What a great story and what a great ending.
    • 5/5
      Very entertaining and I was surprised how Ryle's character got to me the most. I really enjoyed how she wrote real people, not evil, not exaggerated and believable characters. Thank you for shedding light on a situation that can be so difficult to understand and so hard to translate for those that have never experienced it. It's an important story and it's so lucky that we live in a time when we can normalize recovery and redemption that's attainable.
    • 3/5
      Somewhat didactic story of multiple instances of domestic violence. As usual with Hoover, the plot is partly driven by extremely unlikely coincidences. The men are bad, people have lots of money. Pregnancy is a fantasy world.
    • 4/5
      It took courage to use domestic violence as a backs bone for the story line, but I am glad that it was written and hope to encourage abused spouses to walk away from a bad situation.
    • 5/5
      I'm reading this book because I saw the trail for the movie coming out late summer and I loved it. I don't read a lot from this author but being able to picture the characters faces from the movie has made this a very compelling book to read. I'm going to read the follow up book on this for the same reason and hope the movie is well done.
    • 5/5
      Be prepared

      It's a tear jerker. Trigger warnings include abuse, mention of suicide, intended rape. The last half you may need a box of Kleenex or maybe I'm just feeling extra sensitive.
    • 5/5
      Colleen Hoover is a wonderful artist. I saw the movie first and immediately had to read the book. They were both amazing
    • 5/5
      This book hit so close to home for me. It wasn’t my children’s father who I had this type of relationship with, it was the man after him and my children saw things that I never wished they would.. but it has made us all grow closer to each other.

      There were times I was crying with Lily and times I was screaming at her internally. So many emotions. I read this book a few months ago and I guess I just didn’t absorb it the first time because it was just so personal and made me feel feelings I hadn’t felt in so long that I kind of blocked it out. Re reading it, I couldn’t put it down. It made me happy, it made me sad, it also made me so proud. Of Lily, of myself, of anyone who was able to walk away.

    Book preview

    It Ends with Us - Colleen Hoover

    Part One

    Chapter One

    As I sit here with one foot on either side of the ledge, looking down from twelve stories above the streets of Boston, I can’t help but think about suicide.

    Not my own. I like my life enough to want to see it through.

    I’m more focused on other people, and how they ultimately come to the decision to just end their own lives. Do they ever regret it? In the moment after letting go and the second before they make impact, there has to be a little bit of remorse in that brief free fall. Do they look at the ground as it rushes toward them and think, Well, crap. This was a bad idea.

    Somehow, I think not.

    I think about death a lot. Particularly today, considering I just—twelve hours earlier—gave one of the most epic eulogies the people of Plethora, Maine, have ever witnessed. Okay, maybe it wasn’t the most epic. It very well could be considered the most disastrous. I guess that would depend on whether you were asking my mother or me. My mother, who probably won’t speak to me for a solid year after today.

    Don’t get me wrong; the eulogy I delivered wasn’t profound enough to make history, like the one Brooke Shields delivered at Michael Jackson’s funeral. Or the one delivered by Steve Jobs’s sister. Or Pat Tillman’s brother. But it was epic in its own way.

    I was nervous at first. It was the funeral of the prodigious Andrew Bloom, after all. Adored mayor of my hometown of Plethora, Maine. Owner of the most successful real-estate agency within city limits. Husband of the highly adored Jenny Bloom, the most revered teaching assistant in all of Plethora. And father of Lily Bloom—that strange girl with the erratic red hair who once fell in love with a homeless guy and brought great shame upon her entire family.

    That would be me. I’m Lily Bloom, and Andrew was my father.

    As soon as I finished delivering his eulogy today, I caught a flight straight back to Boston and hijacked the first roof I could find. Again, not because I’m suicidal. I have no plans to scale off this roof. I just really needed fresh air and silence, and dammit if I can’t get that from my third floor apartment with absolutely no rooftop access and a roommate who likes to hear herself sing.

    I didn’t account for how cold it would be up here, though. It’s not unbearable, but it’s not comfortable, either. At least I can see the stars. Dead fathers and exasperating roommates and questionable eulogies don’t feel so awful when the night sky is clear enough to literally feel the grandeur of the universe.

    I love it when the sky makes me feel insignificant.

    I like tonight.

    Well… let me rephrase this so that it more appropriately reflects my feelings in past tense.

    I liked tonight.

    But unfortunately for me, the door was just shoved open so hard, I expect the stairwell to spit a human out onto the rooftop. The door slams shut again and footsteps move swiftly across the deck. I don’t even bother looking up. Whoever it is more than likely won’t even notice me back here straddling the ledge to the left of the door. They came out here in such a hurry, it isn’t my fault if they assume they’re alone.

    I sigh quietly, close my eyes and lean my head against the stucco wall behind me, cursing the universe for ripping this peaceful, introspective moment out from under me. The least the universe could do for me today is ensure that it’s a woman and not a man. If I’m going to have company, I’d rather it be a female. I’m tough for my size and can probably hold my own in most cases, but I’m too comfortable right now to be on a rooftop alone with a strange man in the middle of the night. I might fear for my safety and feel the need to leave, and I really don’t want to leave. As I said before… I’m comfortable.

    I finally allow my eyes to make the journey to the silhouette leaning over the ledge. As luck would have it, he’s definitely male. Even leaning over the rail, I can tell he’s tall. Broad shoulders create a strong contrast to the fragile way he’s holding his head in his hands. I can barely make out the heavy rise and fall of his back as he drags in deep breaths and forces them back out when he’s done with them.

    He appears to be on the verge of a breakdown. I contemplate speaking up to let him know he has company, or clearing my throat, but between thinking it and actually doing it, he spins around and kicks one of the patio chairs behind him.

    I flinch as it screeches across the deck, but being as though he isn’t even aware he has an audience, the guy doesn’t stop with just one kick. He kicks the chair repeatedly, over and over. Rather than give way beneath the blunt force of his foot, all the chair does is scoot farther and farther away from him.

    That chair must be made from marine-grade polymer.

    I once watched my father back over an outdoor patio table made of marine-grade polymer, and it practically laughed at him. Dented his bumper, but didn’t even put a scratch on the table.

    This guy must realize he’s no match for such a high-quality material, because he finally stops kicking the chair. He’s now standing over it, his hands clenched in fists at his sides. To be honest, I’m a little envious. Here this guy is, taking his aggression out on patio furniture like a champ. He’s obviously had a shitty day, as have I, but whereas I keep my aggression pent up until it manifests in the form of passive-aggressiveness, this guy actually has an outlet.

    My outlet used to be gardening. Any time I was stressed, I’d just go out to the backyard and pull every single weed I could find. But since the day I moved to Boston two years ago, I haven’t had a backyard. Or a patio. I don’t even have weeds.

    Maybe I need to invest in a marine-grade polymer patio chair.

    I stare at the guy a moment longer, wondering if he’s ever going to move. He’s just standing there, staring down at the chair. His hands aren’t in fists anymore. They’re resting on his hips, and I notice for the first time how his shirt doesn’t fit him very well around his biceps. It fits him everywhere else, but his arms are huge. He begins fishing around in his pockets until he finds what he’s looking for and—in what I’m sure is probably an effort to release even more of his aggression—he lights up a joint.

    I’m twenty-three, I’ve been through college and have done this very same recreational drug a time or two. I’m not going to judge this guy for feeling the need to toke up in private. But that’s the thing—he’s not in private. He just doesn’t know that yet.

    He takes in a long drag of his joint and starts to turn back toward the ledge. He notices me on the exhale. He stops walking the second our eyes meet. His expression holds no shock, nor does it hold amusement when he sees me. He’s about ten feet away, but there’s enough light from the stars that I can see his eyes as they slowly drag over my body without revealing a single thought. This guy holds his cards well. His gaze is narrow and his mouth is drawn tight, like a male version of the Mona Lisa.

    What’s your name? he asks.

    I feel his voice in my stomach. That’s not good. Voices should stop at the ears, but sometimes—not very often at all, actually—a voice will penetrate past my ears and reverberate straight down through my body. He has one of those voices. Deep, confident, and a little bit like butter.

    When I don’t answer him, he brings the joint back to his mouth and takes another hit.

    Lily, I finally say. I hate my voice. It sounds too weak to even reach his ears from here, much less reverberate inside his body.

    He lifts his chin a little and nudges his head toward me. Will you please get down from there, Lily?

    It isn’t until he says this that I notice his posture. He’s standing straight up now, rigid even. Almost as if he’s nervous I’m going to fall. I’m not. This ledge is at least a foot wide, and I’m mostly on the roof side. I could easily catch myself before I fell, not to mention I’ve got the wind in my favor.

    I glance down at my legs and then back up at him. No, thanks. I’m quite comfortable where I am.

    He turns a little, like he can’t look straight at me. Please get down. It’s more of a demand now, despite his use of the word please. There are seven empty chairs up here.

    Almost six, I correct, reminding him that he just tried to murder one of them. He doesn’t find the humor in my response. When I fail to follow his orders, he takes a couple of steps closer.

    You are a mere three inches from falling to your death. I’ve been around enough of that for one day. He motions for me to get down again. You’re making me nervous. Not to mention ruining my high.

    I roll my eyes and swing my legs over. Heaven forbid a joint go to waste. I hop down and wipe my hands across my jeans. Better? I say as I walk toward him.

    He lets out a rush of air, as if seeing me on the ledge actually had him holding his breath. I pass him to head for the side of the roof with the better view, and as I do, I can’t help but notice how unfortunately cute he is.

    No. Cute is an insult.

    This guy is beautiful. Well-manicured, smells like money, looks to be several years older than me. His eyes crinkle in the corners as they follow me, and his lips seem to frown, even when they aren’t. When I reach the side of the building that overlooks the street, I lean forward and stare down at the cars below, trying not to appear impressed by him. I can tell by his haircut alone that he’s the kind of man people are easily impressed by, and I refuse to feed into his ego. Not that he’s done anything to make me think he even has one. But he is wearing a casual Burberry shirt, and I’m not sure I’ve ever been on the radar of someone who could casually afford one.

    I hear footsteps approaching from behind, and then he leans against the railing next to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as he takes another hit of his joint. When he’s finished, he offers it to me, but I wave it off. The last thing I need is to be under the influence around this guy. His voice is a drug in itself. I kind of want to hear it again, so I throw a question in his direction.

    So what did that chair do to make you so angry?

    He looks at me. Like really looks at me. His eyes meet mine and he just stares, hard, like all my secrets are right there on my face. I’ve never seen eyes as dark as his. Maybe I have, but they seem darker when they’re attached to such an intimidating presence. He doesn’t answer my question, but my curiosity isn’t easily put to rest. If he’s going to force me down from a very peaceful, comfortable ledge, then I expect him to entertain me with answers to my nosy questions.

    Was it a woman? I inquire. Did she break your heart?

    He laughs a little with that question. If only my issues were as trivial as matters of the heart. He leans into the wall so that he can face me. What floor do you live on? He licks his fingers and pinches the end of his joint, then puts it back in his pocket. I’ve never noticed you before.

    That’s because I don’t live here. I point in the direction of my apartment. See that insurance building?

    He squints as he looks in the direction I’m pointing. Yeah.

    I live in the building next to it. It’s too short to see from here. It’s only three stories tall.

    He’s facing me again, resting his elbow on the ledge. If you live over there, why are you here? Your boyfriend live here or something?

    His comment somehow makes me feel cheap. It was too easy—an amateurish pickup line. From the looks of this guy, I know he has better skills than that. It makes me think he saves the more difficult pickup lines for the women he deems worthy.

    You have a nice roof, I tell him.

    He lifts an eyebrow, waiting for more of an explanation.

    I wanted fresh air. Somewhere to think. I pulled up Google Earth and found the closest apartment complex with a decent rooftop patio.

    He regards me with a smile. At least you’re economical, he says. That’s a good quality to have.

    At least?

    I nod, because I am economical. And it is a good quality to have.

    Why did you need fresh air? he asks.

    Because I buried my father today and gave an epically disastrous eulogy and now I feel like I can’t breathe.

    I face forward again and slowly exhale. Can we just not talk for a little while?

    He seems a bit relieved that I asked for silence. He leans over the ledge and lets an arm dangle as he stares down at the street. He stays like this for a while, and I stare at him the entire time. He probably knows I’m staring, but he doesn’t seem to care.

    A guy fell off this roof last month, he says.

    I would be annoyed at his lack of respect for my request for silence, but I’m kind of intrigued.

    Was it an accident?

    He shrugs. No one knows. It happened late in the evening. His wife said she was cooking dinner and he told her he was coming up here to take some pictures of the sunset. He was a photographer. They think he was leaning over the ledge to get a shot of the skyline, and he slipped.

    I look over the ledge, wondering how someone could possibly put themselves in a situation where they could fall by accident. But then I remember I was just straddling the ledge on the other side of the roof a few minutes ago.

    When my sister told me what happened, the only thing I could think about was whether or not he got the shot. I was hoping his camera didn’t fall with him, because that would have been a real waste, you know? To die because of your love of photography, but you didn’t even get the final shot that cost you your life?

    His thought makes me laugh. Although I’m not sure I should have laughed at that. Do you always say exactly what’s on your mind?

    He shrugs. Not to most people.

    This makes me smile. I like that he doesn’t even know me, but for whatever reason, I’m not considered most people to him.

    He rests his back against the ledge and folds his arms over his chest. Were you born here?

    I shake my head. No. Moved here from Maine after I graduated college.

    He scrunches up his nose, and it’s kind of hot. Watching this guy—dressed in his Burberry shirt with his two-hundred-dollar haircut—making silly faces.

    So you’re in Boston purgatory, huh? That’s gotta suck.

    What do you mean? I ask him.

    The corner of his mouth curls up. The tourists treat you like a local; the locals treat you like a tourist.

    I laugh. Wow. That’s a very accurate description.

    I’ve been here two months. I’m not even in purgatory yet, so you’re doing better than I am.

    What brought you to Boston?

    My residency. And my sister lives here. He taps his foot and says, Right beneath us, actually. Married a tech-savvy Bostonian and they bought the entire top floor.

    I look down. "The entire top floor?"

    He nods. Lucky bastard works from home. Doesn’t even have to change out of his pajamas and makes seven figures a year.

    Lucky bastard, indeed.

    What kind of residency? Are you a doctor?

    He nods. Neurosurgeon. Less than a year left of my residency and then it’s official.

    Stylish, well spoken, and smart. And smokes pot. If this were an SAT question, I would ask which one didn’t belong. Should doctors be smoking weed?

    He smirks. Probably not. But if we didn’t indulge on occasion, there would be a lot more of us taking the leap over these ledges, I can promise you that. He’s facing forward again with his chin resting on his arms. His eyes are closed now, like he’s enjoying the wind against his face. He doesn’t look as intimidating like this.

    You want to know something that only the locals know?

    Of course, he says, bringing his attention back to me.

    I point to the east. See that building? The one with the green roof?

    He nods.

    There’s a building behind it on Melcher. There’s a house on top of the building. Like a legit house, built right on the rooftop. You can’t see it from the street, and the building is so tall that not many people even know about it.

    He looks impressed. Really?

    I nod. I saw it when I was searching Google Earth, so I looked it up. Apparently a permit was granted for the construction in 1982. How cool would that be? To live in a house on top of a building?

    You’d get the whole roof to yourself, he says.

    I hadn’t thought of that. If I owned it I could plant gardens up there. I’d have an outlet.

    Who lives there? he asks.

    No one really knows. It’s one of the great mysteries of Boston.

    He laughs and then looks at me inquisitively. What’s another great mystery of Boston?

    Your name. As soon as I say it, I slap my hand against my forehead. It sounded so much like a cheesy pickup line; the only thing I can do is laugh at myself.

    He smiles. It’s Ryle, he says. Ryle Kincaid.

    I sigh, sinking into myself. That’s a really great name.

    Why do you sound sad about it?

    Because, I’d give anything for a great name.

    You don’t like the name Lily?

    I tilt my head and cock an eyebrow. My last name… is Bloom.

    He’s quiet. I can feel him trying to hold back his pity.

    I know. It’s awful. It’s the name of a two-year-old little girl, not a twenty-three-year-old woman.

    A two-year-old girl will have the same name no matter how old she gets. Names aren’t something we eventually grow out of, Lily Bloom.

    Unfortunately for me, I say. But what makes it even worse is that I absolutely love gardening. I love flowers. Plants. Growing things. It’s my passion. It’s always been my dream to open a florist shop, but I’m afraid if I did, people wouldn’t think my desire was authentic. They would think I was trying to capitalize off my name and that being a florist isn’t really my dream job.

    Maybe so, he says. But what’s that matter?

    It doesn’t, I suppose. I catch myself whispering, "Lily Bloom’s quietly. I can see him smiling a little bit. It really is a great name for a florist. But I have a master’s degree in business. I’d be downgrading, don’t you think? I work for the biggest marketing firm in Boston."

    Owning your own business isn’t downgrading, he says.

    I raise an eyebrow. Unless it flops.

    He nods in agreement. Unless it flops, he says. So what’s your middle name, Lily Bloom?

    I groan, which makes him perk up.

    You mean it gets worse?

    I drop my head in my hands and nod.

    Rose?

    I shake my head. Worse.

    Violet?

    I wish. I cringe and then mutter, "Blossom."

    There’s a moment of silence. Goddamn, he says softly.

    Yeah. Blossom is my mother’s maiden name and my parents thought it was fate that their last names were synonyms. So of course when they had me, a flower was their first choice.

    Your parents must be real assholes.

    One of them is. Was. My father died this week.

    He glances at me. Nice try. I’m not falling for that.

    I’m serious. That’s why I came up here tonight. I think I just needed a good cry.

    He stares at me suspiciously for a moment to make sure I’m not pulling his leg. He doesn’t apologize for the blunder. Instead, his eyes grow a little more curious, like his intrigue is actually authentic. Were you close?

    That’s a hard question. I rest my chin on my arms and look down at the street again. I don’t know, I say with a shrug. As his daughter, I loved him. But as a human, I hated him.

    I can feel him watching me for a moment, and then he says, I like that. Your honesty.

    He likes my honesty. I think I might be blushing.

    We’re both quiet again for a while, and then he says, Do you ever wish people were more transparent?

    How so?

    He picks at a piece of chipped stucco with his thumb until it breaks loose. He flicks it over the ledge. I feel like everyone fakes who they really are, when deep down we’re all equal amounts of screwed up. Some of us are just better at hiding it than others.

    Either his high is setting in, or he’s just very introspective. Either way, I’m okay with it. My favorite conversations are the ones with no real answers.

    I don’t think being a little guarded is a negative thing, I say. Naked truths aren’t always pretty.

    He stares at me for a moment. "Naked truths, he repeats. I like that." He turns around and walks to the middle of the rooftop. He adjusts the back on one of the patio loungers behind me and lowers himself onto it. It’s the kind you lie on, so he pulls his hands behind his head and looks up at the sky. I claim the one next to him and adjust it until I’m in the same position as him.

    Tell me a naked truth, Lily.

    Pertaining to what?

    He shrugs. I don’t know. Something you aren’t proud of. Something that will make me feel a little less screwed up on the inside.

    He’s staring up at the sky, waiting on me to answer. My eyes follow the line of his jaw, the curve of his cheeks, the outline of his lips. His eyebrows are drawn together in contemplation. I don’t understand why, but he seems to need conversation right now. I think about his question and try to find an honest answer. When I come up with one, I look away from him and back up to the sky.

    My father was abusive. Not to me—to my mother. He would get so angry when they fought that sometimes he would hit her. When that happened, he would spend the next week or two making up for it. He would do things like buy her flowers or take us out to a nice dinner. Sometimes he would buy me stuff because he knew I hated it when they fought. When I was a kid, I found myself looking forward to the nights they would fight. Because I knew if he hit her, the two weeks that followed would be great. I pause. I’m not sure I’ve ever admitted that to myself. Of course if I could, I would have made it to where he never touched her. But the abuse was inevitable with their marriage, and it became our norm. When I got older, I realized that not doing something about it made me just as guilty. I spent most of my life hating him for being such a bad person, but I’m not so sure I’m much better. Maybe we’re both bad people.

    Ryle looks over at me with a thoughtful expression. Lily, he says pointedly. "There is no such thing as bad people. We’re all just people who sometimes do bad things."

    I open my mouth to respond, but his words strike me silent. We’re all just people who sometimes do bad things. I guess that’s true in a way. No one is exclusively bad, nor is anyone exclusively good. Some are just forced to work harder at suppressing the bad.

    Your turn, I tell him.

    Based on his reaction, I think he might not want to play his own game. He sighs heavily and runs a hand through his hair. He opens his mouth to speak, but then clamps it shut again. He thinks for a bit, and then finally speaks. I watched a little boy die tonight. His voice is despondent. He was only five years old. He and his little brother found a gun in his parents’ bedroom. The younger brother was holding it and it went off by accident.

    My stomach flips. I think this may be a little too much truth for me.

    "There was nothing that could be done by the time he made it to the operating table. Everyone around—nurses, other doctors—they all felt so sorry for the family. ‘Those poor parents,’ they said. But when I had to walk into the waiting room and tell those parents that their child didn’t make it, I didn’t feel an ounce of sorrow for them. I wanted them to suffer. I wanted them to feel the weight of their ignorance for keeping a loaded gun within access of two innocent children. I wanted them to know that not only did they just lose a child, they just ruined the entire life of the one who accidentally pulled the trigger."

    Jesus Christ. I wasn’t prepared for something so heavy.

    I can’t even conceive how a family moves past that. That poor boy’s brother, I say. I can’t imagine what that’s going to do to him—seeing something like that.

    Ryle flicks something off the knee of his jeans. It’ll destroy him for life, that’s what it’ll do.

    I turn on my side to face him, lifting my head up onto my hand. Is it hard? Seeing things like that every day?

    He gives his head a slight shake. It should be a lot harder, but the more I’m around death, the more it just becomes a part of life. I’m not sure how I feel about that. He makes eye contact with me again. Give me another one, he says. I feel like mine was a little more twisted than yours.

    I disagree, but I tell him about the twisted thing I did a mere twelve hours ago.

    My mother asked me two days ago if I would deliver the eulogy at my father’s funeral today. I told her I didn’t feel comfortable—that I might be crying too hard to speak in front of a crowd—but that was a lie. I just didn’t want to do it because I feel like eulogies should be delivered by those who respected the deceased. And I didn’t much respect my father.

    Did you do it?

    I nod. Yeah. This morning. I sit up and pull my legs beneath me as I face him. You want to hear it?

    He smiles. Absolutely.

    I fold my hands in my lap and inhale a breath. I had no idea what to say. About an hour before the funeral, I told my mother I didn’t want to do it. She said it was simple and that my father would have wanted me to do it. She said all I had to do was walk up to the podium and say five great things about my father. So… that’s exactly what I did.

    Ryle lifts up onto his elbow, appearing even more interested. He can tell by the look on my face that it gets worse. Oh, no, Lily. What did you do?

    Here. Let me just reenact it for you. I stand up and walk around to the other side of my chair. I stand tall and act like I’m looking out over the same crowded room I was met with this morning. I clear my throat.

    Hello. My name is Lily Bloom, daughter of the late Andrew Bloom. Thank you all for joining us today as we mourn his loss. I wanted to take a moment to honor his life by sharing with you five great things about my father. The first thing…

    I look down at Ryle and shrug. That’s it.

    He sits up. What do you mean?

    I take a seat on my lounge chair and lie back down. I stood up there for two solid minutes without saying another word. There wasn’t one great thing I could say about that man—so I just stared silently at the crowd until my mother realized what I was doing and had my uncle remove me from the podium.

    Ryle tilts his head. Are you kidding me? You gave the anti-eulogy at your own father’s funeral?

    I nod. "I’m not proud of it. I don’t think. I mean, if I had my way, he would have been a much better person and I would have stood up there and talked for an hour."

    Ryle lies back down. Wow, he says, shaking his head. You’re kind of my hero. You just roasted a dead guy.

    That’s tacky.

    Yeah, well. Naked truth hurts.

    I laugh. Your turn.

    I can’t top that, he says.

    I’m sure you can come close.

    I’m not sure I can.

    I roll my eyes. Yes you can. Don’t make me feel like the worst person out of the two of us. Tell me the most recent thought you’ve had that most people wouldn’t say out loud.

    He pulls his hands up behind his head and looks me straight in the eye. I want to fuck you.

    My mouth falls open. Then I clamp it shut again.

    I think I might be speechless.

    He shoots me a look of innocence. You asked for the most recent thought, so I gave it to you. You’re beautiful. I’m a guy. If you were into one-night stands, I would take you downstairs to my bedroom and I would fuck you.

    I can’t even look at him. His statement makes me feel a multitude of things all at once.

    Well, I’m not into one-night stands.

    I figured as much, he says. Your turn.

    He’s so nonchalant; he acts as if he didn’t just stun me into silence.

    I need a minute to regroup after that one, I say with a laugh. I try to think of something with a little shock value, but I can’t get over the fact that he just said that. Out loud. Maybe because he’s a neurosurgeon and I never pictured someone so educated throwing around the word fuck so casually.

    I gather myself… somewhat… and then say, Okay. Since we’re on the subject… the first guy I ever had sex with was homeless.

    He perks up and faces me. Oh, I’m gonna need more of this story.

    I stretch my arm out and rest

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