“Fuck me,” I mutter under my breath. I stand, unsure of what else to do, and say, “Hi, um, Izan, right?”
“Yeah. Sorry—have we met?”
“No. No. Not really. I was a…am a…uh, no, I knew…know? This is impossible. I know Kit.”
His eyes widen. “Kit Mitchell? You knew him?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that.”
He appraises me. “Oh, did you two date?”
I purse my lips. “It’s more of a present tense thing.” I pull out my phone and send Kit a quick text saying,IZAN COFFEE SHOP!!!hoping he understands. To Izan, I say, “Can we talk for a minute?”
He looks wary. “I’m just on a quick break from work…”
“This is more important. Trust me.”
He eventually nods and agrees. “Let me order a coffee first.”
Izan soon joins me and says, “So, what did you want to talk about?”
“Well, there is literally no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to say it.” I look at the ceiling. “I hope he won’t be angry that I told you first.” My eyes move back to Izan. This might be the best way. What if Kit’s parents don’t know where Izan is? “Kit is alive.”
Izan shakes his head, solemn. “Kit died. Sorry, if you didn’t know that. He died ten years ago. His heart gave out.”
“Yeah. You’re correct. Mostly. He did die. And now he’s not dead.”
He shakes his head more. “I don’t understand what you mean. He’s dead. He was cremated. I scattered his ashes.”
“In Beachy Head. Yeah. That’s where he woke up.” I pull out my phone again and pull up a photo I took of us, a selfie on my couch. “This is from last week.”
Izan takes the phone. “This looks just like him…”
“Itishim.” I take the phone back and swipe to another photo, this one I snapped of him as he was attempting to make me dinner last night.
Izan shakes his head and says again, “Kit’s dead.”
“I know this is hard to accept, but he’s alive.”
At that moment, Kit texts me saying,Get him here!!!followed by,Please. Thank you. I love you!
I sigh, understanding Izan’s lack of acceptance. “I know this is hard to believe—despite how much you want it to be true.” My hands wrap around my coffee cup as I lean forward. “I lost my best friend August four years ago, and I would kill to have her back, to get the news I’m giving you right now, sopleasebelieve me.”
Izan starts to get up. “I don’t know what this is?—”
I cut him off, “Listen, okay? The last time Kit saw you, he gave you a hug in the break room and said to you, ‘You know you’re my best friend, right? I love you.’ Then you asked if he was all right and said, ‘I love you, too, you freak.’ That was the last time you spoke to him.”
Izan’s mouth drops open, mid-rise from his seat. He falls back into it. “I don’t…I don’t tell people that I called him a freak. That was normal for us, but it sounds mean, so I keep it to myself. How did you…?”
I saw it in a memoryis not the correct answer.
“He told me. Because he’s alive. I can take you to him.”
“He’s here?” he asks quietly, eyes daringly hopeful.
“At his parents’ house.” I stand and gather my things. “Come on.”
We get in my car, and I drive him over. I let him out.
