Page 13 of PS: I Hate You
But turns out I’m not done here yet, so instead of hiding in myhotel room with a bottle of gin until my flight tomorrow, I let Dom talk me into coming here, our old neighborhood, where his mom and my grandmother still have houses. We’re at the former because I would forever like to avoid the latter.
This kitchen holds mostly good memories. Gorging on Mrs.Perry’s pancakes every Sunday morning. Putting together LEGO sets with the twins on rainy days. Josh making us grilled cheese sandwiches as an after-school snack while Dom helped me with my homework on the days when Aunt Florence kicked us out of the house.
I shove that last recollection away. Sure, Dom was nice to me at one point in my life, back when treating me like a kid was fine.
But I grew up, and I guess that confused his cold robot brain.
His jaw tenses, then relaxes. “Fine. I think we should start with Delaware.”
“Delaware? That’s one of the states? But it’s like…next door.” We lived in Pennsylvania our whole childhood. How did Josh never pop over to Delaware? I’ve even made it down there.
Dom sets one of the envelopes between us.
Delaware
38°42’55.868” N
75°4’54.433” W
My brother’s handwriting is clear. He wants a piece of himself dropped off in the First State.
“This is Rehoboth.” Dom taps the longitude and latitude. “On the beach.”
“Isn’t looking up the coordinates cheating?”
He narrows his eyes. “How else are we supposed to find our way there?”
“Use a compass and a map?” I shrug, my eyes on the scale as Imeasure out another 13.25 ounces of ashes. Josh, previously an average-sized guy, now only weighs six pounds, ten ounces. Divided eight ways, that gives us roughly 13.25.
There’s nothing in his letter that stipulates his ashes be spread evenly in each state, but if this is the last task I’m going to complete for my brother, I’m not going to half-ass it.
“We’d be roaming around Alaska for the rest of our lives that way.” Dom holds up another envelope.
Alaska
62°44’9.406” N
151°16’42.517” W
The creamy parchment has an extra note the others don’t.
Save me for last.
“But if you want to use a compass,” Dom keeps speaking, “spend weeks wandering around a state with me—”
“Google works.” I cut him off and pass over the seventh section of Josh. “Rehoboth is only a couple of hours from here.” A glance toward the window shows the warm glow of early afternoon. We still have daylight, and I never made it to the funeral bar, which means I’m completely sober. “I agree. Let’s do it first. Let’s do it now.”
His hand pauses in the middle of writing, leaving the lid readingNorth Dak-.
“You want to go now.” Dom does this infuriating thing where he says something that should be a question, but his tone makes the phrase sound like a statement. Like a demand. Like he came up with the idea first.
Or like what you just said was so ridiculous he needs to repeat it back for you so you can hear the nonsense of your own words.
I don’t know which this is. It’s been almost a decade since I spent every moment mooning over the subtle fluctuations of Dom’s voice, picking out the thoughts hiding behind his stern gaze.
Now I don’t bother trying.
“Yes,” I deadpan. “I want to go now.” The sooner we get to those coordinates, the sooner I hear from my brother again. I agreed to play Josh’s game, but my fingers twitch knowing that his voice—even if it’s just in writing—is inches from me in the collection of envelopes.