“Mad because Mom died. Mad because she never once said she loved me, hugged me, did anything but what she thought was necessary. Mad because despite it all, I hate how much I miss her. Sad because I keep thinking about what we could’ve been. Sad because she’s not here and I feel like a failure. Sad because Daniel came into my life, showed me how fucking beautiful it is, and now he’s not here. Sad because he’s hurting. Sad because he needed someone and I didn’t do enough. Sad because I miss him. I’m—” My voice breaks. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m here for you. Remember, we’re a part of the dead’s mom club. So that means we’re stuck with each other.We grieve together. We help each other. We’ll figure it out.” She clears her throat, but I know she’s crying.
“You’re being way too nice to me.” I cringe, knowing her shirt is covered in my tears and probably snot.
“Trust me, I could be mean, but I have a therapist, Jarvis. She’s a real pain in the ass, but she’s also pretty great. You should talk to her. She works with the athletes here.”
I remember someone telling me I should speak to her when Mom passed.
“Yeah, I’ll think about it.”
April 20th
I could burn this entire house down and I’d still be able to point at exactly where Daniel and I stood when he gave me the flowers. It’s almost been a month since that moment, but I can still remember it like it happened just a few seconds ago.
The only thing I can’t remember is the actual feeling of being happy. I know I was; I was on the verge of tears because of his gesture. But now I don’t know what that physical emotion feels like. I keep trying to chase it, hoping I’ll move fast enough to catch it, but it’s like trying to catch the wind.
I dart my attention back to my screen, staring at the message thread between Daniel and me. I bite the inside of my cheek, hating the way my throat constricts over the stupid name. I’m not sure when he grabbed my phone, but he changed his contact name to:MY VERY HOT BF.
The last thing he said was that he was on his way outside, right before Bryson showed up.
I close my eyes briefly before I open them and type out a message. But a second later I delete it and type another. And I repeat the action ten more times before I decide against sending the message and toss my phone on the coffee table.
I hunch over, burying my face in my palms, and groan loudly but stop when I hear the doorbell ring. I ignore it but then it rings again.
I can’t even self-loathe in peace.
Marching over to the door, I jerk it open, feeling immensely agitated, but it vanishes because Penelope is standing on the other side.
I expect her to cuss me out or maybe even slap me but not apologize.
“I’m sorry.”
I flinch back, stunned. “What are you sorry for?”
“For being a bitch. Ignoring you. For being angry. I shouldn’t have, but he’s my brother an-and I-I…” She exhales a sorrowful sigh and a tear creeps down her cheek.
A voice in my head screams to stay in my spot, but my hands are moving of their own accord, wrapping around her until our bodies are flush against each other.
“I thought you hated hugs?” Her voice quivers.
“I’m trying out this new thing. Don’t get used to it,” I reply, feeling awkward when a second later, tense silence surrounds us. “You’re not a bitch. You were doing what you thought you needed to do. He’s your brother, after all.”
“I know, but I didn’t know what really happened. I just assumed, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry, Josie. I just know how much he cares about you, and seeing him hurt like that…it wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry.”
I rub her back as she cries into my chest. “Please stop crying. I genuinely might evaporate because my body is not used to me crying this much.”
She hoarsely laughs. “This is weird for you, isn’t it?”
“Very, but it’s okay.”
She draws back, wiping the tears away. “I really am sorry for not being here for you too.”
“You weren’t obligated. We’re not family and you haven’t known me long. It’s okay. I promise I don’t hold grudges.” I offer a small empathetic smile, hoping it doesn’t look strained.
She returns one of her own, making her dimples pop out. “We may not be family, but you’re still my friend—and my closest one at that. I really am sorry.”
My heart thunders and I cross my arms against my chest as if that’ll do something to stop it from racing. “Please stop. I should be the one apologizing.”
