I WANDER through the park after lunch, walking across the soccer field and over toward the playground. There’s something about the light laugher of the children on the swing sets that helps put me at ease, helps me focus my thoughts. I take a seat on a bench nearby, settling in against its forest-green slats. It’s cool here in the shade, beneath this elm tree’s long, sturdy branches. It reminds me of the trees in Virginia, which makes me think of Nate.

I sigh. Nate.

My mom told me yesterday that if I’m happy with the way my life is that I should keep doing what I’m doing. I’m fully ready to admit to myself now that I’m not happy, not by a long shot. And it’s not just that I’m not happy, it’s that I’m keeping myself from being happy by holding onto the past. By making excuses for myself. By not taking chances.

My life now consists of standing on the sidelines, in the safe zone, watching people live their lives. I’ve reduced myself to a casual observer of the world instead of an active participant in it. It’s true that not taking risks saves me from feeling the pain of failure, but it prevents me from feeling the joy of simply being alive. I realize now that I need Nate in my life. And it’s not because I’m lonely, and it’s not because I can’t survive without him. It’s because he makes me want to do all the things that I’m afraid of, and become all the things that I’m not, but that I desperately wish I could be. He makes me want to open my arms, take a deep breath and appreciate the beauty in the world. What more could I possibly ask from a person? A broken heart seems like a small price to pay in return for the possibility of a lifetime full of love and happiness.

Now I’m afraid that I may have lost Nate without ever really having him in the first place. I haven’t spoken to him since he left the night of the wedding. Even though Gabby said that he’s asked about me, I can’t deny that it stings that he hasn’t tried to contact me. I’m fully aware of what a hypocrite that makes me, thank you very much. I take a look at the number scrawled across the bright-pink sticky note I’m holding in my hand, and the sight of the numbers makes my heart thunder in my chest. All I need to do is dial these numbers, and I can hear is voice. All I need to do is dial these numbers, and I can tell him how I feel. These numbers could lead to so many wonderful things…why are they so scary?

I reach into my gigantic mess of a bag, nearly elbow-deep, fishing for my phone. The sharp edge of something catches the inside of my wrist, and I wrap my fingers around it, wondering what exactly it could be. When I pull my hand out of my bag, I can’t believe my eyes.

It’s a single-serving box of Raisin Bran, with a note taped to the back.

Underneath an address it reads:

For a healthy heart.

It’s from Nate, who always seems to know exactly what I need when I need it. I’ve spent the past three weeks wondering how I could fall in love with him so quickly, and now all I can think is…how could I not?

I blink through the tears in my eyes, my heart feeling more intact than it has in ages and so full I almost think I can’t take it. It’s then that I look up, right above the bench I’m sitting on, and I see a plain blue sign with white lettering. I turn, gripping the back of the bench to give me leverage while I read it.

This playground donated and maintained by Bryson Interiors

I designed their website two years ago when they were on the brink of going out of business, and now they’ve sponsored a park. Business is booming now, so I guess I can take some small sliver of credit for the fun the kids are having on the swing set twenty feet away. Maybe I have something to do with the smiles on their faces.

I’m not curing cancer, but I am leaving my fingerprint on this world, starting with a tiny playground in a tiny park in the middle of Dallas. And Nate was right, that is something. It’s fitting, I suppose, that I’d feel so close to him when I’m so far away, considering I’d done everything I could to put distance between us while we were together.

I get it, universe. I get it.

A phone call isn’t enough, this requires a risk.

I’m finally willing to take one.

I make it home in record time, then sprint into my room and throw heaps of clothing into my suitcase. I’m not even paying a bit of attention to anything I’m putting in there, but I don’t care, I don’t care. I scribble out a note for my mother on the back of an old envelope, hop in my car, and start driving.

ROUGHLY EIGHTEEN hours after I leave Dallas, I’m standing on the curb in front of Nate’s house in Boulder. It doesn’t look at all like I expected, not that he ever told me what his house looked like anyway. It’s a Craftsman style, with dark brown siding and white shutters. The lawn is impeccably landscaped, with lush green grass and well-trimmed bushes. The trees are just starting to show a hint of fall, the edges of the leaves showing a tinge of color with muted reds and washed-out yellows. I bet they’ll look like they’ve caught fire in a few weeks, and I feel the beginnings of a dull ache in my chest because I want to be here to see that.

I look down at the address on the note that Nate taped to the cereal box he left in my bag, then I glance up at the numbers that are all lined up in a perfect row on the awning over the porch. This is the street and this is definitely the house. There’s a grey Jeep parked in the driveway, it’s shiny paint is streaked with caked-on dried mud. I’m guessing it belongs to Nate and has probably seen more death-defying adventures than I’d care to know about.

There hasn’t been even the slightest hint of nervousness since I hopped in my car and pulled out onto the interstate, but now that I’m here I think maybe my heart is going to beat right out of my chest. I feel like I should’ve called, like maybe it’s not fair to just show up here like this, even though he did basically leave me an invitation to do just this. Ugh, I can stand here and debate over it for the rest of the night, or I could just work up the nerve to walk up the steps and knock on his door. What do I have to lose? Nothing I haven’t lost already.

I take a deep breath and slowly exhale, closing my eyes as I feel the slightest bit of relaxation tug at the dull edges of my overstimulated nerves. I’m taking a chance; chances don’t feel safe, Callie, they feel…well, they feel exactly like this. I didn’t drive all this way to check out the real estate in Nate’s neighborhood, so it’s time for me to make a move. To make a move and see if this crazy road trip thing was a good idea or a really, really bad one. I move myself forward, get some momentum going, and walk up to his front door.

As soon as I raise my hand to knock, the door flies open. My heart slips and falls when I look up into a face that doesn’t belong to Nate.

“Can I help you?” Now this is exactly the kind of guy I would picture when I thought of people who lived in Colorado. Shelby would probably describe him as ‘crunchy.’ He’s you’re typical tree-hugging, granola-loving hippie type. His hair is a bit shaggy, but he has a nice smile and a friendly face.

“I’m sorry,” I say, a little flustered. “I was just here to visit…” A friend? I’m not exactly sure what to say here, although ‘Is Nate here?’ would probably work, I can’t seem to get myself to say it. “I came looking for-”

“You’re Callie,” he says with a knowing smile. Never before has the simple sound of my name made me feel so reassured and welcome. He delivers what I can only describe as an instant calm.

“I am.” I smile back at him. “I’m here to see-”

“Nate,” we both say at the same time. We laugh together too, a nervous and awkward sound.