Her smile is exactly how I remember it. “Hi, Nico.”
“Hi, Georgie.” My voice cracks, and she narrows her eyes. They’re so similar to Shay’s, just a little darker. I know Shay remembers them looking almost identical, but they never did to me. They were like opposite seasons, spring and fall—alike, but different. Shay feels like the world is winding down, settling, calming. She’s always been warm and steady. Georgie felt like the start of something. She always had some new idea or plan she was tackling full steam ahead. And if something didn’t work out, that was okay, because every day was a fresh start.
“I’m pretty disappointed in you,” she says, flicking her hair over her shoulder. It’s a lighter blonde than Shay’s, and she never did get old enough to find the gray hairs she was always stressing about.
“What did I do now?”
“It’s what you didn’t do. I die—tragically, may I add—and instead of spending the rest of your life going outof your way to tell people how wonderful I was, you shut yourself away! What a waste of a life, Nico.”
“I know.” Hearing how badly I’ve fucked up my life from her lips is worse than anyone else saying it.
“And Shay… I did a lot of potentially stupid things when I was alive: bungee jumping, riding my bike in Paris without a helmet, going home from the pub with that guy I met in London who may or may not have been a serial killer. But I always took comfort in knowing that, if the worst happened, you and Shay would never be alone, because you’d be there for each other.”
“The worst did happen,” I say, swallowing down the lump in my throat. “And it was my fault.”
“It wasn’t your fault. It was an accident, and no one could’ve done anything to avoid it,” she says firmly. “But it did happen. And you were alone. Because you weren’t there for Shay, and you wouldn’t let her be there for you.”
There’s nothing I can say to justify that, so I don’t bother trying. “I miss you,” I say instead, and Georgie’s eyes crinkle at the sides, the way they always do when she’s emotional.
“I miss you too. The real you. The one you’ve been hiding away for so long.”
I know, logically, that it’s not Georgie. It’s the combination of whatever drugs they’ve given me that makes her feel real. The things she’s saying are my own subconscious speaking. But I’ve missed hearing her voice. And it’s easier to be honest with her than it is with myself.
“I miss him, too,” I admit. “But I think he’s gone.”
Georgie raises an eyebrow. “Really? Because I knowsomeone who would disagree. Someone who thinks you can get better.” She doesn’t have to specify for me to know who she’s talking about, but she wrinkles her nose and adds, “I can’t believe you fell in love with someone who’s only a year older than I am now.”
Jesus Christ. I really don’t need to think about that. “I didn’t mean to fall for her.”
“Maybe not, but I’m glad you did. It’s the best thing you’ve done since I died. Maybe ever, actually. She saved your life, and I’m not just talking about the axe.”
“So, I am alive? You’re definitely a figment of my imagination, and not here to usher me into the afterlife, right?”
“Right,” she confirms, rolling her eyes. “I’m not ready to spend eternity with your whiny ass. Go live a little. Watch Shay get married to someone she really loves. Spend more than our birthday together and talk about me instead of refusing to say my name. Get your girl. Live happily ever after.”
That sounds… nice. Really nice. Could I actually be okay? Could I let myself have that? Could I learn to believe that maybe I deserve something happy?
“You deserve so much more than just okay, Nico,” Georgie says, reading my mind. “You have two decades of happy to catch up on.”
“But I don’t know how to do that without you.”
She reaches across the bed and holds my good hand in hers. It feels so real. “You’ll see me again someday. I promise. But I’ll kick your ass if you show up in the afterlife and you’ve wasted even more of the time I didn’t get.”
It feels good to laugh with Georgie again. I’ve missed laughing with her.
I blink, wiping the tears from my eyes. But when I try to open them, I can’t. Sleep tugs me under, and I commit Georgie’s last twinkling laugh to memory.
My sister is sitting beside my hospital bed, with a pen in one hand and another tucked behind her ear, scribbling in a notebook.
I try to turn my body toward her, and my shoulder screams in pain. Awake, then.
“Shay.”
She looks up, almost dropping her pen. I watch her gray eyes flood with relief, her shoulders slumping like they’ve been holding up the weight of the world. “Oh, thank god.” She stands and gives me a one-armed hug, in an attempt to avoid my bad side. “You scared the hell out of us.”
Us? Does she mean… “Este? Is she okay?”
She raises a brow, and she’s so like Georgie that I might smile if I weren’t so achy. “Yeah, Este. Whatever happened to ‘I’ll avoid her as much as I can,’ huh?”
