Page 62 of Promise Me Sunshine

“I definitely didn’t choose her.”

“Maybe she was wrong to make you choose in the first place.”

“She wanted to feel like a priority.”

“You think maybe she could have done so without setting down an ultimatum between her and the only family you’ve got left? Might have been beneficial for both of you, not to mention the relationship.”

His eyebrows go up, and a small smile kicks up one side of his mouth. “You sound like you’re defending me.”

“Well,duh.Miles, you’re my…” Grief wingman? List doula? Only companion these days? “Ace.”

He blink-blinks and then quickly turns and squints out at the ocean. Takes another sip of my beer.

“Do you miss her a lot?” I ask, trying to read his mood.

“Sometimes,” he says with a shrug. “Sometimes not. We were together for five years. But breaking up was the right move. So…yeah. It is what it is.”

“Fiveyears?”

“Yeah.”

I’d give anything to juice his memories like an orange. I want the good stuff, no filter. “What’s her name? Is she pretty?”

His eyes flick up to mine. “Kira. And yeah.”

He laughs at my expression, even though I can’t begin to guess what I look like right now. “Well, there’s a lot we don’t know about each other.” He hands the beer back to me and my fingers accidentally overlap with his. “And a lot that wedo.”

I take a sip of our beer and clear my throat. I haven’t made a new friend in so long I forgot that it could feel like this. But Miles isn’t just a friend. He’s also my version of George’s son. He’s my handler. My manager. My personal EMT worker. My cook.

I sigh. How am I ever going to repay this debt to him?

“Hey…” I clear my throat. “By the way. Thanks for your help yesterday.”

His eyes are on the side of my face instead of on the ocean. “Thanks for badminton,” he replies easily. And then, “But I’m sorry if I…you know…triggered your meltdown? When I pushed you toward making friends.”

I turn and meet his gaze and it holds for a second longer than I expect it to. “So.” I turn back to the sea. “Am I fixed now? Something good for me, something bad for me, and achange of scenery? You drag me off the ferry, make me run a mile in the morning, stuff me full of shrimp and beer, and now I’m all better?”

He doesn’t laugh. “Thatiswhat started it, right?”

I shrug. “Oh, I don’t know. Who knows. I’m the dummy who went to the Met by myself. I thought I could cross it off the list.”

“You went to the Met before the ferry?”

“Yeah. Now it’s on a new list. The list of places I can’t go. My apartment. Lou’s grave. The Met.”

“I didn’t realize you hadn’t been to her grave.”

“Not since we buried her.”

He absorbs this. “So…you went to the Met and…”

“I got overwhelmed. I hadn’t been there since she’d died. And she used to take me there all the time. We’d walk around and she’d explain all the art I didn’t understand. She was an incredible artist, you know.”

“You mentioned Pratt…”

“Yeah…” I sniffle a little, but it’s nothing compared to yesterday’s tidal wave. “I just got overwhelmed,” I say again. “I went to the ferry, you came and got me, and then you were there for the rest.”

His strong grip on my shoulders as he steered me into a cab. Glasses of cold water in his apartment. A heavy blanket. Ibuprofen. The oblivion of sleep. Bananas and coffee and scrambled eggs in the morning. New-to-me workout clothes and a mandatory hill to run up.

---