Every Summer After

“Then let me have you,”

And not for the first time, it feels like someone stole the script to my life story and wrote it all wrong.

“Then let me have you,”

He is pretty. I found myself smiling at the realization.

“Did you just say that I’m pretty?” Sam asked, laughing.

Oh god, I must have said that bit out loud.

And there will be a flash of red hair.

“Before she died. She said he’d need you after.”

But I didn’t. I never did.

Because talking to me made him feel lonely. I was a distraction. I was holding him back from his future.

Just before she died, Mom told me she was ready. She said she was tired of fighting and tired of missing Dad. She thought of death as a new beginning—said she was going to go spend the rest of her next life with Dad, and I’d like to think that’s exactly what they’re doing now. Best friends together again.”

“You and me are special,” he started. “There’s no one else I’d rather spend time with than you. There’s no one else I’d rather talk to than you. And there’s no one else I’d rather kiss than you.”