“Okay,” he says. “It’s good to see you.”
And then for whatever reason—maybe it’s the red lipstick, the realization in my reflection this morning that it’s not too late, or gratitude for saving me from a kissing booth—I say, “Don’t wait so long next time. You know where I live and where I work and where I am when I’m not working ornotliving.”
I say the last part even though I’m not sure he’ll understand or remember what I’m referring to.
His eyes soften. “Not in Dusty Hollow Cemetery. You’d be spread out over a Texas bluebonnet field in the spring where tears are turned to petals.”
My breath seizes slightly.
One night, our senior year, we were parked out on a dirt road, staring at the stars in the sky while Milo let me rattle on passionately about the things I loved and hated. He let me do that often.
“No one better bury me in Dusty Hollow Cemetery,” I said loudly, sitting up to look at him with determination in my eyes. “I don’t want my body rotting away in the dirt outside Dusty Hollow.”
He sat up, his blue eyes glistening. “So, what should I do with you? If you die before me?”
“I want my ashes spread over a Texas bluebonnet field in spring where tears are soft blue petals for me to rest within. But I won’t die before you.”
He laughed. “How do you know that?”
“Because I’m more stubborn than you,” I said with a smug smile. “And what about you, Milo Carter? When you die, what am I to do with your body?”
His hand traced my face from my ear to my chin before he swooped in for a gentle kiss and then whispered against my lips, “Keep my ashes so I can be with yours.”
Those words meant so much to me.
Others would have laughed at my rant, but Milo took it seriously. Healwaystook my words seriously, which meant they were always safe with him.
I blink before my words tumble out. “You remember.”
“Some things never leave you.”
I take two steps backward up the aisle. “Well, you know where to find me, then.”
17
MILO
“Is your tea too sweet?”Nadine asks, her voice playful.
Matt Waters invited me for Sunday lunch with his family—which is big, loud, and everything I didn’t have growing up. Nadine made fried chicken, potatoes, grits, and a green Jell-O dessert with whipped topping and pretzels, which was devoured in seconds by both kids and adults.
We’re now in their backyard—kids running around and yelling wildly while Matt and I sit in two white rockers on their deck.
“It’s perfect,” I answer.
“Well, I wasn’t too sure if you could tolerate the sugar in your tea anymore,” she teases. “Don’t they like it bitter up north?”
I smile. “It’s just called tea.”
She laughs like I’ve said something funny, kisses Matt on the cheek, and heads off toward the swing set.
A few quiet minutes pass as we watch his family move around the yard. They’re all barefoot in the grass. Two girls are attempting to hula hoop until one boy steals a hoop and starts acting like a lion tamer while another young boy growls and jumps through it.
“Your family is beautiful, Matt,” I say.
He hums in agreement. “They are. But I didn’t invite you over just to show off.”
I glance at him. “There’s a reason besides small-town hospitality?”
