“Jaxon Vega.” She fake swoons. “I have no idea how to explain Jaxon, except… Oh, wait! You saw him.”
“I did?” I try to ignore the way flying dinosaurs have once again taken up residence in my stomach.
“Yeah, on the way to our room. He was one of the guys who nearly hit me in the face with the door. The really hot one out in front.”
I play dumb even though my heart is suddenly beating way too fast. “You mean the ones who completely ignored us?”
“Yeah.” She laughs. “Don’t take it personally, though. That’s just the way Jaxon is. He’s…angsty.”
He’s a lot more than angsty, if our conversation a little while ago is anything to go by. But I’m not about to bring up what happened to Macy when I don’t even know how I feel about it yet.
So I do the only thing I can do. I change the subject. “Thanks so much for setting up the room for me. I appreciate it.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it.” She waves it away. “It was no big deal.”
“I’m pretty sure it was a big deal. I don’t know that many companies that deliver ninety minutes outside of Healy, Alaska.”
She blushes a little and looks away, like she doesn’t want me to know just how much trouble she’s gone through to make me feel at home. But then she shrugs and says, “Yeah, well, my dad knows all the ones that do. It wasn’t a problem.”
“Still, you’re totally my favorite cousin.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m your only cousin.”
“Doesn’t mean you aren’t also my favorite.”
“My dad uses that line.”
“That you’re his favorite cousin?” I tease.
“You know what I mean.” She sighs in obvious exasperation. “You’re a dork; you know that, right?”
“I absolutely do, yes.”
She laughs, even as she crosses to the mini fridge next to her desk. “Here, drink this,” she says as she pulls out a large bottle of water and tosses it to me. “And I’ll show you the rest.”
“The rest?”
“Yeah. There’s more.” She crosses to one of the closets and pulls open the doors. “I figured your wardrobe wasn’t exactly equipped for Alaska, so I supplemented a little.”
“A little is an understatement, don’t you think?”
Lined up inside the closet are several black skirts and pants, along with white and black blouses, a bunch of black or purple polo shirts, two black blazers, and two red and black plaid scarves. There are also a bunch of lined hoodies, a few thick sweaters, a heavy jacket, and two more pairs of snow pants—none of which is in hot pink, thankfully. On the floor are a few pairs of new shoes and snow boots, along with a large box of what looks like books and school supplies.
“There are socks and thermal underwear and some fleece shirts and pants in your dresser drawers. I figure moving here is hard enough. I didn’t want you to have to worry about anything extra.”
And just like that, she manages to knock down the first line of my defenses. Tears bloom in my eyes, and I look away, blinking quickly in an effort to hide what a disaster I am.
It obviously doesn’t work, because Macy makes a small exclamation of dismay. She’s across the room in the blink of an eye, pulling me into a coconut-scented hug that seems incongruous here at the center of Alaska. It’s also strangely comforting.
“It sucks, Grace. The whole thing just totally sucks, and I wish I could make it better. I wish I could just wave a wand and put everything back the way it used to be.”
I nod because there’s a lump in my throat. And because there’s nothing else to say. Except that I wish for that, too.
I wish that the last words my parents and I spoke weren’t hurled at each other in a fight that seems so stupid now.
I wish that my dad hadn’t lost control of the car two hours later and driven himself and my mother off a cliff, plunging hundreds of feet into the ocean.
Most of all, I wish that I could smell my mother’s perfume or hear the deep rumble of my father’s voice just one more time.
I let Macy hug me as long as I can stand it—which is only about five seconds or so—and then I pull away. I’ve never particularly liked being touched, and it’s only gotten worse since my parents died.
“Thanks for—” I gesture to the bed and closet. “All of this.”
“Of course. And I want you to know, if you ever need to talk or whatever, I’m here. I know it’s not the same, because my mom left; she didn’t die.” She swallows hard, takes a deep breath before continuing. “But I know what it’s like to feel alone. And I’m a good listener.”