“I’m tellin’ you this because it’s a big part of who I am.” Snow begins to collect on the windshield as evening takes over the day, a new storm starting. “I promised myself I’d be miserable to pay homage to her and what she didn’t get to have. What I didn’t help her have,” I say, being more honest in this moment than ever before. “I can’t do that anymore. And it’s okay for me not to want to do it anymore, either.”
“How long has it been?”
“Seventeen years,” I answer, knowing we’re on the edge of Mere’s D-day anniversary.
She drags our linked hands into her lap, her thumb stroking my hand in a way that sets the world on its axis, no matter the pain in my heart at revisiting this.
“And you’re ready now,” she says, drawing out the words to give us both time, I think. Time to really digest the big thing happening between us. We were maybe a couple before, with or without a fucking title, but now we’re bonded. We’ve woven our hearts together through sharing darkness and pain, and those bonds hold. They hold forever, and our eye contact sizzles, telling me she knows it as well as I do.
“I am,” I admit.
“Why?” she asks, her question a whisper. She ain’t searching for compliments the way she maybe once would have. Instead, I can see her heart needs this as much as mine does.
“You know why,” I say, my face remaining impassive as I toss her a single wink.
“Why?” She asks again, unwavering. I twist the heater down, bringing the cab to a comfortable silence.
“Because I love you.”
“Yeah?” she asks, hope bubbling in that single word as her eyes fill with a happy warmth. Happiness that she got from me, and after all the pain I’ve thought I caused my sister, and every second of anguish Goldie has been through, those tears beggin’ to fall make me so goddamn happy.
“Yeah,” I add, “and I want to take you to meet her.” I swallow hard around the lump in my throat. “To meet Meredith, my sister.”
* * *
The cemetery is somehow morebeautiful when it snows; I’ve always felt that. Having Goldie here changes things, too. I almost feel… excited to walk her to Mere’s spot and let her see the beautiful headstone that Mom, Dad, and I picked out together.
And now that she knows what happened, I feel free to share the good things. To remember Mere more than I have in the last seventeen years, to no longer feel like remembering her has to equate to missing her and hating me.
I can honor her without punishing myself.
We lie on our backs in the snow, slowly getting soaked but not caring. I talk to Meredith freely, like I do when I visit, and Goldie holds my hand the whole time.
I tell her that she’d like Goldie, that Mom and Dad love her, and that I wish they could meet. I tell Goldie about Mere–what she looked like, her favorite sweater that had pink hearts woven into the white fabric and how dingy it always looked because she never wanted to part with it long enough to wash it, the way she loved anime and manga comics and how she never once used a curse word to my parents or me.
When we’re too wet and too cold to go on, I lift Goldie from the grass, and she crouches in front of the headstone, running her fingers along the engraved name.
“I need to get you home and dry and warmed up,” I tell her as she rises. She nods, and we walk hand in hand in what feels like the most peace either of us has ever had.
The drive is quiet but not uncomfortable. Goldie starts peeling off her coat and scarf, and by the time I park behind Delilah’s, I’m still wet but no longer freezing.
With the truck still running, she turns to me in the cab, draping her hand along my forearm.
“Wait,” she says. “How long have you known about the Brutes and what happened with Reynold?”
twenty-one
goldie
The only thing better than being the King is being his Queen
I knowBeck didn’t tell him. I know Beau didn’t tell him, even if Beck told Beau which I don’t think she did. I know Beau and Atti are close but he would know it’s not his place.
I don’t know why I stupidly didn’t consider this before, but… Edie. I spilled my guts to Edie, and honestly, even though she told Atticus, I would do it again. Because every conversation with her has left me feeling better. And the truth is, I was going to tell Atticus. Eventually.
Another truth? I’m kind of glad I don’t have to tell him; I’m kind of relieved he knows. And maybe I should feel betrayed by Edie, but I don’t. I do not believe she told my story to Atticus because she wanted to but rather because she felt he needed to know—for me. It was to serve my best interests.
“My mom told me a few weeks back,” he answers, “and I’ve been stewing on it since.”