Page 138 of PS: I Hate You
Josh is gone.
I’m alone.
The reminders come with every painful beat.
And I’m angry at the universe for insisting I still hurt this way even though it’s technically been years since my brother died.
Why does it feel like I held his cold hand in the hospital yesterday? Why can I remember the rattling sound of his machine-assisted breathing at the end better than I can recall his laugh?
I lunge for my phone, hands shaking as I swipe it open and desperately scroll through videos until I find one from just over three years ago.
Josh grins up at me from the screen, and I press play.
“Hey, Magpie! Look what I found.”The screen pans around a clothing shop, every surface covered in thick knit sweaters.“Can you guess where I am?”The camera is back on his face.“Don’t worry, even if you guess wrong, I’ll still bring a jumper back for you. Extra large just like you like.”He chuckles.
That’s it.
That’s what it sounds like.
Clutching the phone to my chest, I leave my laptop on my coffee table and shuffle through my condo until I’m in my closet. There, hanging with a collection of other warm clothes, is the emerald green sweater Josh brought me back from Ireland. I pull off the sweatshirt I’m wearing, then tug the gift over my head, eased by the way it swallows me.
Before I leave the closet, another garment catches my attention.
The letterman jacket.
The silly company gift Dom gave me. A company he doesn’t even work at anymore now that he’s part of The Redford Team. A star member apparently, from the way my coworkers talk about him.
Though Dom’s natural state is akin to a stoic, looming tree, he knows how to turn on the charm at work. He’s only been in Seattle for a few months and half the company wants to be his best friend. Most of the others want to date him.
I dread the day I hear about Dom with someone else through the Redford gossip churn.
Not that I have any claim on him.
Still, there’s the text message he sent me after his first day on the job.
Dom:This is a reminder that I’m not going anywhere. But I also won’t badger you. I’m giving up control. What happens next is up to you. I’ma patient man, and you’re worth waiting for.
He hasn’t texted me since, and I never responded.
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to feel.
Today, though, I know. Everything is pain.
Without thinking, I slide the letterman jacket off the hanger and slip it on over the sweater. I should probably turn the heat down if I’m going to wear all these layers.
This isn’t the first time I’ve worn Dom’s jacket. But usually, it happens after a few drinks and when I make the mistake of scrolling through the pictures we took on our trips. I don’t examine why I needed to put it on now. I simply fold my arms around my torso and settle in front of my laptop again, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
Sometime later there’s a knock on my front door. I blink and rub my eyes, realizing a pounding has sprung up at the base of my temple to go along with all my other pains. With a groan, I push to my feet and try to remember if I ordered myself food.
But when I pull the door open, I find Tula and Jeremy on my threshold.
Their eyes widen in sync when they take me in. That’s when I remember that I shimmied off my leggings at some point to deal with the heat of my many layers. Now I stand barefoot in a cable-knit sweater falling midthigh and a letterman jacket, probably with dark circles under my eyes since I don’t sleep well these days.
“When’s the last time you ate?” Tula maneuvers past me, carrying a pizza box with her.
“Uh, earlier.” I wasn’t keeping track. “You didn’t need to bring me food.”
She sets the box on my butcher block island, then glares across the room at my still-open laptop. “It’s eight. In the evening. And you’re still working.”