I dream of many different things that night—of my mother, with her honey-blond hair and that red apron she always wore to work; of my father, with his well-pressed suits and flashy cars; of my half-sister Serena, who always looked like she had just stepped off the runway; and, of course, of Hunter, who, for all the bad things I could say about him, was there for me when no one else was.
It’s harder, I think, to remember that aspect of him—the one that wasn’t all bad. I fell in love with him for a reason, after all; he wasn’t always cruel.
I still remember the first time I met him. It was almost like a Taylor Swift song; I was the wide-eyed, inexperienced freshman girl, and he was the cocky, self-assured senior boy. I had blossomed that summer, I learned later—come into my body and my fea
