Page 56 of Promise Me Sunshine

I squeal and go to throw my arms around his neck, but he catches me halfway there and holds me back.

“But,” he continues.

I sag. I knew there was a catch.

“Onlyas your backup.”

“Backup? But you’re my list buddy! I know it’s not your thing, but—”

“It’s not that.” He waves a hand. “Look, Lenny. From where I’m sitting you are someone who needs friends to be happy. People are yourfuel.You are never happier than when you’re with Ainsley, or flirting with a waiter, or…” He tries to come up with another example.

“Pestering you for coffee while you’re trying to read the paper?”

“Exactly. I think that you put all your friendship energy into Lou. Which makes sense. She was your soulmate, yeah? But…seriously. I think it might be time to make some friends.”

I frown and pull my knees up to my chest. “I have friends.”

“Name a single person besides me that you’ve reached out to in the last month.”

This is depressing.

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal,” he says gently. “What about that guy Jericho? His mom is always bragging about him. He seems like good people.”

“Oh.” Huh.

“Besides, he clearly thought you were cool, and you already bought the tickets, right? He’s probably not going to turn down a free concert.”

“You did.”

He purses his lips. “For your own good.”

“You really think he’d go with me? It’s not completely random to ask?”

“It’s…yeah, it’s completely random, butyou’repretty random so it’s actually a fairly decent introduction to what being your friend is like.”

I laugh despite myself but then sober. “You want me to make friends, huh?”

“It could be good for you.”

“Right. Right.” I wish I believed him.

Chapter Fourteen

I’m alone with Georgia O’Keeffe.

There are dozens of other people milling around, sure, but I’m parked on this bench, in this museum, and she’s showing me what it felt like to leave New York and move to the desert. To have two lives. How to hang a skull in the storm clouds and adorn it with one white flower.

Art museums were Lou’s thing. She’d drag me here and spend way too much time standing around quietly. Then I’d drag her to the gift shop and spend way too much time deciding between buying a refrigerator magnet or a coffee mug.

I still have a crayon drawing of my childhood cat that she did for me in third grade. I still have the self-portrait in oil pastels she did during her first round of chemo. I held the mirror for her.

It’s on the list.Go to the Met as often as possible.I know Miles is my list buddy, but he’s made crossing things off look so easy. I thought I might cross this one off on my own.

I’m starting to regret that choice.

She used to come to this museum to be alone with the greats, she’d say. We should have buried her in the Met.

“He wants me to make new friends, Georgia,” I tell the painting.

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