Page 7 of A Dead Girl's Guide to Living
I took a steadying breath and pushed forward, making my way toward him just as some relatives caught my parents’ attention and swept them away.
Thomas’s eyes flicked to mine, and for a second, I saw a flash of surprise in them, but it vanished just as quickly. He never did give much away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment, and I noted how much older he looked. Sharper. He had the same green eyes as the boy I remembered, but they were harder now, the edges sharper, more guarded.
“Happy birthday,” he murmured with a dip of his head. “You’re looking good, Lis,” he said after a moment, his voice even. “Healthy.
A breathy, awkward laugh left me, and I cringed at how forced it sounded.
“The big one year,” I muttered, gesturing vaguely at the party around us. “Word on the street is that I’m a survivor.”
His eyes didn’t leave mine as I spoke, his gaze unreadable, nothing but quiet observation.
I had forgotten that about him.
I lived in a world full of people who filled silences with words. But Thomas? He let things settle. Let statements hang in the air, absorbing them—listening not to respond, but to understand.
When he finally spoke, his words hit me like a bucket of ice-cold water dumped over my head.
“What’s the problem?”
I blinked at him, trying to work out what he meant.
“You should be happy,” he continued with a small frown. “You’re alive… healthy. You made it. But…” His eyes narrowed slightly. “I don’t see it anywhere in your eyes. Happiness.”
My throat went dry. His words stripped me bare, as if a mask had been ripped away, leaving the real me on display. It was unnerving. My stomach twisted as my eyes swept the room once more.
Did anyone else not buy my act?
What if people could see right through me?
What would they think?
That I was the selfish girl who had defied death more than once yet couldn’t summon an ounce of happiness in her tired, worn-out body?
My eyes met my brother’s again, and I knew he was right. It was, by far, the most direct and honest thing anyone had said to me in years.
All the emotions I had been burying seemed to bubble on my lips, demanding release, and for the first time, I felt like I could tell him. I could tell him the truth, and he would understand. He wouldn’t judge me.
As my lips parted, the overwhelming need to put these spiraling feelings into words pressing against my chest, the clinking of glasses rang through the room. The laughter and chatter of my relatives halted as everyone turned toward the sound, followed by my father’s deep voice.
“All right, everybody,” he called out, his tone full of joy, a wide smile on his face as he stood beside Mom, an arm around her shoulders. “Megan and I would like to say a few words in honor of our birthday girl.”
A deafening round of cheers erupted, the sound amplified by the sheer number of bodies crammed together.
All eyes zeroed in on me.
Heat crawled up my neck, my cheeks flushing under the weight of their attention. My gaze darted around the room, searching for anything to ground me, and landed on my grandfather. He shot me a cheeky wink, his hand clasped around my grandmother’s as she watched me with a beaming smile.
“You know, every birthday we get to celebrate with our darling girl is always momentous,” Dad continued. “There… there were many birthdays we thought would be the last, so celebrating each year is something truly incredible for Megan and me.”
Mom dabbed at her eyes, giving me a watery smile.
I ached.
“Twenty-one,” Dad breathed, letting out a low whistle. “What a milestone. And a whole year into your recovery. Another milestone, with so many more to come.”
Until it failed me, I thought darkly. Because it inevitably would.
Because that’s what my body did.
