“I regret it,” I blurt out without realizing it. “What?” She looks at me. “You regret what?” “The past four years.” A soft smile tugs at her lips. Her gaze drops to her lap, and she begins fiddling with her purse. “All those years…” I pause because I’m drunk. She’s drunk. And drunk confessions can lead to some awkward moments once everyone’s sobered up, but I don’t fucking care. I just want to tell her. “All of those years of growing up together, I never missed anything, and now, I feel like I’ve missed everything because I have.”
