I think about the past three years and how frozen I’ve been. Never taking chances. Never trying my luck. Always afraid of the worst-case scenarios. Almost like I could have stopped it from happening, like I could have stopped her from getting sick, if I had just stayed home.
The list started that way too. I thought I knew where it was leading me, back to the person I was before it all. Back to her.
But then… I think of Blake holding out the yearbook to me, the list falling from it. Her smile in the kitchen when she suggested I actually do it. How she was with me every step of the way, her face stitched into every memory, the list pressing play on my life, which has been paused for so long.
And then it hits me.
The list wasn’t leading me to Mom. It wasn’t leading me to Matt.
It was leading me forward. It was leading me to her.
I can’t keep Mom here with clothes and secrets and things I never got to say. If she’s really with me, like I felt all summer long, then I have to trust that she knows. That she can hear my feelings now. That she’d understand even if she can’t tell me.
The sky darkens around us as my tears finally dry out. My chest is hiccuping as it slowly stops. I sniff and my dad tightens his grip on me, holding me close, not running away to work or hiding behind pancakes, a barrier between us broken.
“I’ve got you, Em,” he says. “I’ve always got you.”
29
The second I walk into Nina’s the next day, Kiera storms off to the back room, leaving me standing in the doorway watching her go. I catch Nina peering at us from the kitchen, her brow furrowed in concern. Paul is just behind the counter, his pen frozen midair.
“Kiera!” I call, following after her. I reach out and stop the door from slamming in my face, slipping inside and closing it behind me.
She crosses her arms and turns around to look at me. “What?”
We both stare at each other for a long moment, the cracks in our friendship that we’ve ignored for so long suddenly a cavern between us.
“I’m sorry,” I say, trying to cross the divide. “I’m sorry about what I said.”
“Honestly, it was a bit of a welcome relief. You’re always shutting me out and refusing to open up,” she says, glowering across the room at me. “It was nice to actually hear what you thought for once.”
I nod, thinking about that little box that I kept myself in. How it impacted everything in my life. My relationship with Matt. My friendship with Kiera.
“I think I just felt like you were so obsessed with fixing everything so we could have this shiny, wonderful senior year, that you just… stopped seeing me completely.”
“Well, you wouldn’t let me see you, Em,” she says, understandably frustrated. “I mean, what is going on? I thought this is what you wanted! I mean, our plan worked, didn’t it?”
“It worked,” I say as I take a deep breath. “But I… I don’t think it was the right plan.”
Kiera is silent, leaving me a space to continue. To tell her the thing I kept from her that would have made a world of difference.
I feel my heart hammering in my chest, the truth I’ve never told anyone before on the tip of my tongue. The part of me I never got to share with my mom.
“I don’t like Matt, Kiera,” I say, and her mouth falls open in surprise. “Not like that. No matter how hard I tried to. No matter how hard I tried to not be like this, it’s no use.”
“ ‘Like this’?” she echoes.
I take a deep breath, the truth coming out in a whisper. “I like Blake.”
I wait for the storm. For the world to come crashing in around me.
But it doesn’t.
Kiera crosses the divide and pulls me in, her arms tightening around me as tears unexpectedly begin to stream down my face, completely soaking her Nina’s T-shirt. “Oh, Em. I’m… I’m sorry I was so wrapped up in senior year, and making everything right, and all the shit with our friend group that it felt like you couldn’t tell me. Or that I wouldn’t care unless you were with Matt,” she says as she rests her chin against my head. “You know I’ve always got your back.”
“I know you do,” I say, giving her a tight squeeze. “I’m sorry, too. For shutting you out. For not being honest.”
We stand there in silence for a few minutes, feeling closer than we have in a while.
Soon there’s a light knock on the door. When we pull apart and open it, Paul and Nina are standing there, the open sign turned to closed, Paul holding up a bag of bittersweet chocolate chips.
“I think maybe we should just make some chocolate chip cookies today,” Nina says, wrapping us all up in a hug. “How does that sound?”
“Will you tell me the secret ingredient?” I ask, my voice muffled against the fabric of her shirt.
“Yep,” Nina says.
I whip my head off her shoulder, my eyes wide. “Wait. Really?”
She nods, all of us laughing. “Really.”
We get all the ingredients together while I tell them everything.
About this summer and the list and Blake. Reliving the night at the beach, and what she said to me before the bonfire. How I swooned when I first saw her at bingo, without even really knowing I had.
“I realized how much I like her,” I say, taking a deep breath. “I realized that I… that I like girls.”
My eyes flick over to meet Paul’s, and he gives me an understanding smile. “It may be a little tough in a small town like this one,” he says, knowing from experience. “But I wouldn’t want to pass on the post of resident gay of Huckabee to anyone else.”
I laugh and shake my head at him. “Thanks, Paul.”
“How long have you known?” Kiera asks as she measures out the brown sugar. Not in an accusing way. Not in a doubtful way. She just… wants to know.
I feel a smile creeping onto my lips. “You remember Dominique? From Misty Oasis?” I ask her.
She drops the measuring cup she’s holding. “Dom Flores? You had the hots for Dom Flores?”
“I did not have the hots for Dom Flores,” I say, chucking a chocolate chip in her direction. “Maybe a tiny, tiny crush, I don’t know.”
We all laugh, and I shake my head. “I think… I think I suspected something, but when we got back from camp…”
Nina nods, catching on. “Your mom was sick.”
“Yeah,” I say, thinking of how I was swept up in doctor’s appointments, and surgeries, and my mom getting sicker and sicker, withering away before my eyes. “I just ignored it. I pushed it down. Until, well… until I couldn’t.”
I meet Kiera’s gaze over the mixing bowls. “Kiera, I couldn’t be honest with you because I couldn’t be honest with myself. And I couldn’t be honest with myself because I couldn’t tell the truth to the one person I wanted to tell more than anyone.”
She reaches out and takes my hand, giving it a sympathetic squeeze.
I let out a long sigh. “I think I just thought that being with Matt was what my mom would have wanted,” I say. “All the years she had nudged me in his direction when she suspected he was crushing on me. And then telling me right at the end that I should give him a chance. But it’s always felt wrong. It’s always felt off.” I pull the list out of my pocket, unfolding it and giving it a long look before laying it on the counter. “Doing the list changed me so much, I just thought that, well… that things would finally fall into place the way they did for her that summer. With Matt. With all of it.”
Nina smiles and picks up the list. “Em, I still tell your mom stuff,” she says as her eyes scan the paper. “When I’m walking around the grocery store, or baking a cake, or brushing my teeth. Even though she’s not here, she’s still here.” She points to her heart, the place where my mom will always have a space. “Your mom was my best friend, and I know for a fact she’d only want you to be happy. Whether that’s with Matt, or whether that’s with Blake,” she says, folding the list down to look at me. “Besides, you’ve still got some summer left.
”
A small smile creeps onto her lips. “Who said your mom got it right the first time?”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
All she does is shake her head, reaching into her apron to reveal a tiny jar of maple syrup.
“That’s not my story to tell. You’ve gotta ask your dad,” she says as she pours some into the mixing bowl.
“Maple syrup?” I ask, my eyes wide, my lifelong quest to find the Secret Ingredient finally coming to a close. “Really?”
“Your mom spilled some in a batch we made when we were kids,” she says as she screws the lid back on, holding the jar up to the light. “Haven’t changed the recipe since then.”
30
The next afternoon I bike to Matt’s house, wanting to put things right. For real this time.
I coast along the familiar back roads, this trip so different from the hundreds before it.
Different from the hundreds that will hopefully come after it.
If he doesn’t hate me.
As I turn into his development, I see him sitting on the front porch, in the same spot where we used to sit and wait for my dad to come pick me up. He’s on his phone, still wearing his white lifeguard tank top from the pool.
I slow to a stop, hopping off and kicking the kickstand into place. He looks up, surprised to see me.
“Hey,” I say as I sit down next to him on the top step.
“Hey,” he says, resting his arms on his legs and interlacing his fingers, just like he always does when something is serious. Like he can tell what’s coming.
We’re both silent for a second, like we’re afraid to poke a sleeping bear. I look over at him, squinting into the afternoon sun.
“I’m sorry,” I say, meaning it more than those words can convey. “I am so sorry, Matt. For the kiss at the lake and ignoring you the past few days instead of giving you an explanation. Instead of just being honest with you, like I said I would be.”
He nods, his brow furrowing slightly. “Can you be?” he asks finally, looking down at his hands. “For real this time?”
I let out a long exhale.
“I was scared,” I say, telling him the truth. “All along, I’ve been scared to admit the fact that something was missing on my end, so I just came up with these stupid excuses to break us up instead of being real with you. Like the night of junior prom. I was scared to tell you I didn’t want to take things to the next level. So I did something stupid to push you away instead of just talking to you. And then I thought the list would help me find the missing piece but… it didn’t. At least not the way I expected.”
Matt looks over at me, his jaw locking in a way that’s so familiar to me. “You could’ve,” he says. “You could’ve just talked to me, Em. We used to talk about everything. If I’m honest… I think that’s been missing for me, too. I think I thought if we took it to the next level, it might click back into place.”
I think about all the years we’ve known each other. Our adventures in middle school. Our group of friends, all piled together at a lunch table.
“I know,” I say. “And I should have. I should have then, and before that, and long before now.”
“So this is it? For real this time.”
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “Breaking up, getting back together, trying to make it work. It’s not working.”
He lets out a long exhale, pushing his unruly hair out of his eyes. “Did I do something wrong? Like… this weekend? Or during our relationship? Or—”
“No! No,” I say, shaking my head. “Not at all. It’s not you at all. You’re the best guy in this whole damn town. It’s… well. It’s me. I just… I don’t like guys, Matt. And I didn’t know how to admit that… until now.”
He stares at me for a long moment while I hold my breath. I watch the gears turning, see him putting two and two together in real time.
“Oh,” he says, his eyes lighting up with understanding. “Oh.”
“You don’t hate me, right?” I blurt out, worried that even our friendship will be ruined because I couldn’t be honest. “I would get it if you did. I am so sorry, Matt. I mean, I should have—”
He shakes his head, but I can tell he’s in shock. “Of course I don’t hate you. I just… this is a lot.”
We’re both silent for a long moment, watching as a car passes. “Is it cool if I maybe just have some space?” he asks, and I nod, standing up, my stomach falling through the floor as I walk down the steps.
“Matt, I…” I spin around, but my words trail off into silence. There’s nothing left to say. “I’ll see you around.”
I grab my bike and pedal away, biting the inside of my cheek to stop myself from crying. But even as my heart breaks a little further, I can’t help but feel like I finally did it.
Even though we aren’t together, I finally made it right.
31
The day of the move is here before I know it, a week of packing gone in the blink of an eye. I keep wanting to talk to my dad, to ask him about what Nina said, to tell him, but I can never find the right time.
I wanted to do it in our old house, since it feels sacred in a way, but… I’m scared, especially after what happened with Matt. Out of everyone, I really don’t know what my dad’s reaction will be.
Johnny comes over to help us the day of the move, and I spy Winston’s furry head sticking out the passenger-side window, but Blake is nowhere to be found. When Johnny opens the car door, Winston comes running over to where I’m sitting on the porch, tail wagging.
At least someone is happy to see me.
I scratch behind his floppy ears, giving him a sad smile. “She hates me, huh, bud?” I whisper.
He whines and rests his chin on my knee, his big brown eyes drooping even more than they usually do as he looks at me.
We spend most of the day lugging furniture out to the moving truck my dad rented, a few of his coworkers at Smith & Tyler helping us out too. Gradually, right before my eyes, the house becomes empty and echo-y. Even though, maybe, in a lot of ways, it’s been empty since she left us. Tears fill my eyes as I think of how she used to fill this space, with her voice, and her laughter, and her warmth.
But as I go through each room, I still find things. The marks on the carpet where something used to be, tiny holes in the wall where pictures were hung, the lines on the doorframe where we’d measure my height every year.
The small scorch mark revealed from lifting up the carpet in the living room, a reminder of the Christmas a decade ago with Blake.
All signs we were here. All of us.
Soon my dad and I are standing in the entryway, our only claim to this house the memories we made in it.
He puts his arm around my shoulder, letting out a long exhale. “I’m gonna miss this place,” he says.
I nod, taking in the steps and the living room and the worn wood floors for the last time. Taking in Mom’s house for the last time, before, together, we close and lock the door.
My fingers drag along the flowers of the garden as we make our way down the walk. I stop to carefully uproot a sunflower to replant, although with my tattoo, I’ll always have a part of her garden with me, no matter where I may go. I smile as the tattoo peeks out from underneath my mom’s black cardigan, pulling the sleeve down as my dad appears over my shoulder with a mug from his truck for me to put the flower in.
My mom’s polka-dot mug. Not gone forever, but here.
We pull out of the driveway for the last time, the house fading from view as we drive off down the street, the mug clutched in my hands, everything I need from the house right here with me. All the important stuff.
Every step I take is a step toward a new, uncertain chapter in my life, something about a fresh start feeling good. Inviting. A new beginning waiting just around the corner.
* * *
After we unload the moving truck at our new house, I climb the steps to my room, surprised when I step inside and see that the bubblegum-pink walls are gone, replaced wi
th the same eggshell white as my old room, a blank slate for me to fill with posters and pictures of cake designs and handwritten recipes.
Dad.
There’s a light knock on the door, and I look over to see Johnny peeking inside. He gives me a small smile, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling.
“I’m gonna head out, but”—he holds up a wrapped, rectangular object, about the size of a textbook—“she wanted me to give this to you.”
My heart jumps at the thought of Blake. I reach out and take it, my fingers wrapping around the solid edges.
Clearing his throat, he runs his fingers through his hair in a way that is painfully familiar. “I know something happened between the two of you. I don’t exactly know the specifics, Clark, but I sure hope you two find a way through it.” He smiles at me before patting my shoulder and leaving.
Slowly, I sit down on my bare mattress and carefully slide my fingers through the tape on the gift. The wrapping paper falls away to reveal…
A painting. Of my old house. The white exterior and the sash windows and the front porch with a swing, and… colorful sunflowers growing in the garden just underneath it, and…
My mom on the front lawn, gardening.
The most important part of the home, the exact memory I want to remember it by brought to life by Blake.
Of course she knew.
My thumb traces her name scrawled onto the right corner, tears stinging my eyes. I sniff, wiping them away.
It’s perfect.
That night I carefully hang Blake’s painting on my eggshell-white wall. It feels impossible for everything to ever be like it was between us. But this feels like a start.
“That’s an awful nice painting,” a voice says from behind me. I turn around to see my dad leaning in the doorway, a big wooden box tucked under his arm.
“It sure is,” I say, plunking down on my bed and wrapping my mom’s cardigan around myself.
The Lucky List Page 21
