COLEEN

I sat cross-legged on my bedroom floor, my suitcase yawning open in front of me like it was mocking me. A pile of half-folded clothes was scattered around me, sweaters draped over the chair, jeans tossed onto the bed.

I kept pulling things out, folding them neatly, then unfolding them again, unsure if they were “appropriate” enough for Hayden’s parents. My heart hammered with each decision, as if picking the wrong sweater would seal my fate.

If it wasn't already obvious that I ...