Page 102 of Promise Me Sunshine

“Totally. It’s terrible here. Must be the lemon verbena candles and the perpetually full cookie jar.”

I turn to her, pulling oven mitts off. “It was good, though? Work?”

She’s glowing. “It was perfect.”

—

Lou is sittingnext to me in a wheelchair. She’s got a big fleece hat on and an Aladdin blanket over her lap. The wind is blowing where we’re sitting on the deck of the ferry and it gives me an excuse to slide closer to her. She lifts the blanket and I pull it over my legs too.

“You think other people take public transportation to hospice?” she asks, drawn and exhausted.

“You said no limos,” I say with a shrug.

“Yeah, would have been overkill.” She glances at me. “I won’t say thanks this time. I know you hate that.”

“You’re welcome, Lou.”

We huddle under the blanket and wait.

Chapter Twenty-Six

A word about my general love life: shriveled.

Ihavedated.

Here’s a brief overview: virginity (fictional, contrived, social construct but I digress) mutually lost at seventeen with a sort-of boyfriend at his dad’s house. No technique or skill. We conked heads and laughed hysterically. He made me pizza bites afterward.

Then followed a series of unserious hookups with randoms that occasionally culminated in some underwhelming penetration.

At twenty-four I was pretty firmly swept away by one guy, Tony. His best friend, Mario, was head over heels for Lou and the four of us used to go on double dates, which was probably a large part of the appeal. It was very fun until Mario started sucking and everybody broke up with everybody. I slept with Tony a few more times over the years, which was generally a thumbs-up. He came to Lou’s funeral in a suit but I couldn’t even look at him. And now you’re up to date.

Which brings us to now. This moment, where I’m peeking out from a crack in the blankets in the dusty dawn light and trying not to scream every time Miles’s chest rises and falls with his breath.

He’s asleep on his back, face turned toward me, and why have I never noticed before that you could brush those eyelashes with a hairbrush they’re so long?

The locket is clutched in my hand. It feels like a wedding ring he doesn’t realize he’s given me.

Do some people slowly fall in love and not realize it? Have I been in denial? Or did he hand me a locket with my best friend’s face glued into it andbamjust like that two hundred gallons offeelingsupturned onto my head?

Does it matter when it started? I don’t know. All I know is that I’ve never felt like this before and I’m not handling it well.

I slide out of the living room and track down my bag. I’ve never moved more quietly in my life. I change back into muddy camping clothes and don’t care. I can’t wear Miles’s gigantic white T-shirt anymore or I’m going to go out there and crawl under the blanket with him.

I’m completely packed, bag in the car, his mother’s dress laid out and all the towels already in the dryer by the time he wakes up.

I may or may not be sitting on the back porch in an Adirondack chair tapping my foot at sixty miles an hour.

“You’re up already?” he asks, sliding open the glass door. His breath makes clouds and he’s in boxer briefs and a T-shirt. I think. I can’t look at him directly.

“Yup. All packed.”

“It’s only seven.” He’s flabbergasted.

“Ready to get back to the city.”Or at least away from this place where I can’t catch my breath and have absolutely no idea what to say to you.

“Oh. All right.” He slides the door closed and comes back five minutes later with a steaming cup of coffee. When I take it from him, I bow my head to him in thanks. You know. Nice and natural. Like I’m the queen of England.

He scratches his head and looks down at me. “You good?”

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