Love You More(37)

“Thank you,” I say, glancing down at my left hand.

“Was it weird sitting beside Mick?” Gus asks.

I shake my head. “No. Not really. Although—” I say, shifting my gaze to my mom. “Was it really necessary to invite him to sit with us?”

“He came alone,” she says. “It was the right thing to do.”

Brooke looks confused as Gus gives her a recap of our six-year relationship. “He was the man in high school. Incredible running back. Great guy.”

I feel my shoulders tighten. “I should head over to Joan’s,” I say, eager to change the subject. “Are you guys coming?”

“Your dad and I will go over tomorrow,” my mom says. “Better for Joan to space out the visits.”

“We’ll walk you out,” Gus says.

A moment later, we’re all in the driveway. Our breath fogs in the air.

Gus wraps his arms around me and whispers, “I’m so sorry, Sis.”

My brother isn’t always the most emotionally literate person, but his whole heart is in that hug.

I nod, tears threatening again, as he and Brooke get in his car.

As they drive away, I start to walk up the street, a route I’ve taken a thousand times.

When I’m halfway there, Mick’s Chevy Silverado pulls up beside me. It’s the same model he’s always driven, only black instead of red. I once asked if he’d ever get a Ford. He looked at me like I’d suggested he become a Russian spy.

“Certain lines can’t be crossed,” he said, his expression stone-cold. “If something happens to me, please promise me you won’t date a man who drives an F-150.”

I wonder what he thinks of Range Rovers.

He rolls down the window and gives me a smile. “Want a lift?”

Fleetwood Mac’s “Landslide” is playing on the car radio.

I hesitate. It’s only a hundred more yards to Joan’s house, but refusing would seem standoffish.

“Sure,” I say.

I walk around to the passenger side, open the door, and put my foot on the running board. The interior smells of cedar and motor oil—exactly like it used to. As I reach for the bar above the window and hoist myself up, the seat creaks, and a wave of memories slams so hard it feels like time travel.

I close my door and put on my seatbelt as Mick lets his foot off the brake.

“You hanging in there?” he asks.

“Barely. It’s so surreal,” I say. The physician in me suddenly conjures up the technical term—depersonalization.

When we pull up to Joan’s, Mick parks at the curb. Neither of us moves for a second. Then we get out, walking slowly toward the front porch.

I start to ring the bell, then change my mind and walk right in. I’ve never needed an invitation here.

As soon as we enter the kitchen, I see Eliot, Sam, Anna, Lucy, and Lucy’s husband. Beyond them, I can see Joan at the kitchen table surrounded by an older crowd. Cara is hovering over the counter with a small posse.

I glance around the room again.

No sign of Phoebe.

I hug my friends, one at a time.

Anna glances toward Cara, then motions for us to come closer, lowering her voice. “Do we trust this GoFundMe?”

“I don’t,” Sam says. “But to be fair, Erin would be furious if her memorial fund didn’t have at least a little bit of financial scandal baked in.”

We all laugh.

“Yeah,” Lucy says. “She’d haunt us for being boring.”

I smile, thinking that calling someone boring was her ultimate diss. I once grilled her about whether I was boring. She laughed and said I was too smart and way too high-strung to be boring. “You’d make a great character on Seinfeld,” she added. “Sitting there at the diner with Jerry and Elaine being all angsty about nothing.”

“She’d definitely want us to be laughing right now,” I say.

Eliot nods. “She totally would.”

“Remember when she dressed up as an elf and charged neighbor kids a dollar to give their Christmas lists to Santa?” Anna says.

More laughter.

“Why did anyone believe that she had an ‘in’ with Santa?” Eliot says.

“She was persuasive as hell,” Anna says.

“Always,” I say, thinking of all the things she talked me into over the years: dressing us up as “retro workout icons” one Halloween, the two of us sporting matching headbands, leg warmers, and thong-style leotards; the skinny-dipping “Polar Plunge” at the lake one frigid April night; and the absolutely disastrous blunt bangs she gave us both in the fifth grade.

As I share the memories aloud, we all crack up again.

“And weren’t those bangs right before school pictures?” Lucy asks.

“They were indeed,” I say, shaking my head. “I would have been more pissed, but they were so much worse on her curly hair.”

“Remember when Erin put me in a ‘Time-Out’ on her porch for not following the rules of some stupid game she made up?” Sam asks.

“And once again, you obeyed her!” Eliot says. “Like, why?”

“I know.” Sam laughs. “I was always a little bit afraid of her.”


For the next small reading break, it helps to have a book ready.