Then Harper died, and that song cut off mid-chorus, and for what feels like forever, I’ve been too focused on getting through the day to consider what comes next. No one has pushed me on it either.
“I, uh—” The words get caught behind my teeth. “Not really. Still figuring it all out.”
Holden, smart enough to realize he’s stumbled into an off-limits corridor, easily backtracks. “Well, you’ve got time.”
Paige goes on to ask Cecily how her classes are going and what her next steps are, but all the future talk leaves an ashy taste on my tongue. The conversation turns to static around me, and I focus intently on the food in front of me.
“God, that smells amazing,” someone says over my shoulder. I jerk up, looking back to find Finn leaning between me and Margot, eyes closed, nose inches from the half-eaten burger on my plate.“I’d chop off my foot for a burger.”
“I’dchop off your foot for a hot dog. Ketchup, relish, mustard, maybe some chili. And I didn’t even like hot dogs before,” says Sloane. She appears like Finn did, out of the blue, next to Margot.
I fight the urge to respond to them. I clear my throat, reaching for the wineglass and taking a long swig. The wine is warm on its way down to my belly.
Margot meets my gaze. Her brows arch in question.
I wave a hand dismissively.
“You good?” Finn asks.
I don’t dare look at him.
“Jo. Oh, come on, ignoring me? Childish,” he says, clucking his tongue.
“Stop being a menace,” Sloane replies.
“Don’t know how to be anything else,” Finn says.
“That’s for damn sure,” says Sloane.
“Go away,” I say under my breath. Or not as under my breath as I think, because half the eyes at the table snap to me. I push to my feet, knocking my glass and catching it before it spills across the plastic cover. “I’ll be right back.” I don’t give any more of an excuse for my exit from the table and escape into the warm yellow light of the kitchen. I find my way to the counter and curl my fingers around it.
Apparently, the ghosts need ground rules.
The back door creaks behind me. I flinch, but it’s only Cecily.
“Everything okay?” She steps into the kitchen, giving me a light smile.
“Yeah. I’m good. Just…” I gesture around at nothing, hoping Cecily decides on something herself.
“I get it. I’ve always hated things like this.” Her cheeks go red. “Not that I don’t like your family or you or anything, but it’s like…the older you get, the more you hear that question.What are you doing with your life?And when you don’t have an answer, you look like…”
“A mess?”
She smiles. “Yep.”
“I used to have answers. But right now I’m trying to keep my head above water, not decide on the course of the rest of my life,” I say.
Cecily leans back onto the counter. She wraps her arms across her torso, as if holding something inside. “I guess I’m the opposite. I’ve been dying for so long, there was no reason to decide on anything. Making it to eighteen was like a miracle. And now I’m staring down the barrel of a future I never expected. I haven’t even picked a major yet, let alone a career or anything like that. Dad keeps asking, and I keep putting it off.”
I nod. I almost ask if she’s leaning toward anything, but it would only prove both our points on questions without answers.
“There’s always time, I guess. Until there isn’t.” Cecily bites on the inside of her cheek, forming a dimple. “It’s cliché, but it is true. You’ve got time. You can figure it out tomorrow or five years from now, you know?”
The sentiment is kind as well as true, but the words sink into my skin like sharp nails.
I have time. And that wasn’t a scary prospect before a year ago, but now every second pulls me further from Harper and the future I planned. I get older and change, but she’ll forever be sixteen.
My stomach churns, the hot dogs and wine threatening a reappearance.
