Page 147 of Promise Me Sunshine

“ ‘Go to the Met as often as possible,’ ” Miles quotes as we stand in front of Georgia O’Keeffe. “I guess it’s one we’ll have to cross off over and over.”

I frown a little. “I thought it would feel a certain way. To cross everything off the list. To get it all done. But…in reality. In the world that doesn’t have an actual plan…I still haven’t been to Lou’s grave. Not since her funeral. And there’s a lot of other things to do still. I guess it all feels a little arbitrary. The things I actually wrote on the list.”

Miles cocks his head to one side, his brows drawn. “The thingsyouwrote on the list? I thought…I thought Lou wrote that list for you. Things for you to do to live again after she…”

“No.” I shake my head. “I wrote that list forher.A long time ago. For after her hysterectomy. When…going on with her life didn’t feel possible for her anymore.” My eyes mist. “She carried it with her for a long time. That’s why the paper is so raggedy. Right before she died she had it laminated and gave it back to me.”

I take it out of my pocket and hand it to him. He holds it up and studies it. It spends so much time in my pocket, under my fingers, it’s weird to see it out in the daylight, in the world.

“What’s the last thing on the list?” Miles asks, handing it back to me.

“What do you mean? We checked everything off.”

He shakes his head. “The paper is folded there, see? If you hold it up to the light, there’s something written.”

I still.

Heart racing, I slide my fingernail between the curling lamination and peel it slowly open, careful not to tear the paper.

And there, written in her artsy handwriting, with a pencil she’d surely just been sketching with, are Lou’s last words tome.

Get over it already, loser.

And her best gift to me, always, is that there is genuine laughter mixed in with the jagged, heart-torn tears. I clutch her handwriting to my chest and bury my face in Miles’s sweatshirt.

“She knew, Miles,” I say when I come up for air. “She knew that there isn’t actually a checklist for learning to live again. She knew that some days you do it and some days you don’t.”

Today, all I can do is bring Miles to a place where I feel Lou. And the rest is for another tomorrow.

I take a deep, watery breath and gesture to the painting. “Miles, meet Lou Merritt. The love of my life. Lou, meet Miles Honey, the other love of my life.”

He waves at the painting. “Hi.” He looks down at me. “Was this one her favorite?”

I laugh. “I have no idea. Actually, maybe this one ismyfavorite.” It’s a striking idea, considering I’ve never had an opinion on fine art in my life. But maybe I osmosed a love of art just from loving Lou. “I feel Lou in the Met. Every time we used to come here together, she always wanted to staylonger. So if her spirit is somewhere still…I hope it’s here. And now she can spend as long as she wants.”

Miles nods and we fall thoughtful.

“I’m taking good care of her,” Miles assures the painting. “I feel like I know you. I see you in Lenny every day.” He squeezes me while tears fall. “I love you.”

For a moment, I think he’s telling Lou that he loves her, but when I look up, his eyes are on me. It occurs to me that hedoeslove Lou.Becausehe loves me.

We study the painting until other people come, and then we mosey through the museum. We look at the art, but it’s mostly just an excuse to hold hands. When we circle back down to the gift shop I get lost in the section with all the silk scarves. Miles finds me ten minutes later and he has two books in his hands. “You think Lou would have liked this one on Louise Bourgeois or this one on Monet better?”

“Oh, that one, I think.”

“Great.”

I follow him curiously and watch as he purchases it. “You’re going to read a book that Lou would have liked?” I ask with wide, brimming eyes.

He hands me the bag. “No. You are.”

“Me?” I blink and peek inside the bag.

“Yeah. It’ll be good for you. Think of it like taking vitamins.”

I scowl and try to put the book back in his hand. “I hate doing things that are good for me.”

“No, you don’t.”

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