Page 154 of PS: I Hate You
His body stiffens, a statue under me. “Maddie?” My name is a raspy question in his throat.
I make a production of rolling my eyes. “Stop saying my name. I’m the only one on this porch. Who else would you be talking to? Just say what you want to say.”
Dom mixes a chuckle with a groan. “I love you. And I accept. Allyour days are mine.” Finally, he drags my head to his for a crushing kiss. When he pulls away, his hands cradle my face. “You’re crying.”
“Am I?” Reaching up, I touch my cheeks to realize they’re damp. Rubbing my thumb and forefinger together, I smile at the moisture. Then I let my hand drop and grin down at the man I love. “Happytears.”
A Few SummersLater
Epilogue
We take the people Josh loved everywhere.
Swimming at Rehoboth.
Through a canyon of glowing larva.
To Ink Ever After—we all have Josh’s love on our wrists now.
To fields of lavender.
Exploring a ghost town in the desert.
We road-trip through both the Dakotas in a rented van, making the entire trip this time. I manage the trek through the Badlands on my own legs, enjoying the views while only panting a little bit.
And on the Enchanted Highway, I get to remedy my mistake. Because I have more than one day, which means there’s time for second chances.
The second time hiking in Idaho is as hard as the first, but no one complains about my slower pace, and whenever Adam offers to give me a piggyback ride, Dom whips a snowball at his brother’s head.
And this time, when we board a plane to fly into Denali National Park, every seat is filled by someone who loves Josh Sanderson.
Except for the pilot—we don’t know that guy.
Rosaline, Adam, and Carter join Dom and me as we return to all the coordinates. We read them the letters. We cry together. We laugh together.
We say hello to my brother.
And goodbye.
Every trip we take new pictures, and the best shots become puzzles framed on our walls, just like the collection Dom and I took on our original trips. I don’t mind the awkward expressions in the first few because now I know he loved me in each one. And I admit that a part of me still loved him, too.
With my newfound intention of allowing the people in my life to claim second chances, before the first trip, I call my mother. I offer to tell her about one of the places I spread Josh’s ashes, but only if she promises never to post about it. To never use the information in any way for her media career.
She agrees. Too fast in my opinion.
A week later, Jeremy—my mom-blog buffer—tells me softly there is an Instagram picture of her standing on a beach in Delaware staring out toward the ocean. The caption talks about her son’s ashes living forever in the sea.
I thought knowing that she’d likely lie to me would lessen the hurt. And yet, I still curl up in my bed that evening, gutted by one more betrayal. When Dom arrives home from work—early, at Jeremy’s directive—he bounds up the stairs of what was his town house, but is now ours, and lies beside me. He pulls my body into his, and he keeps my pieces together.
Cecilia Sanderson does not get an invite to any of the trips.
Which is why the group on this glacier consists of Dom, Rosaline, Adam, Carter, and me.
Tula, Jeremy, and Carlisle came to Alaska with us, but wait back in the town, knowing this last leg is something we need to do as a family.
“Here.” I hand Rosaline the container of Josh. The Rubbermaid that’s gone with us on every trip this second time around.
Another thing I’m working on, as encouraged by my therapist, is sharing my grief, and acknowledging the pain others might beexperiencing. Surprisingly, I’ve found Rosaline to be one of the easiest people to empathize with.