“Embarrassingly telling everyone my engagement is off and moving all my stuff back into a tiny shoebox apartment?” I flinch at her description. “Things seem to finally be getting back to normal.”
“Have you two talked at all?”
She shrugs. “Once or twice, but it’s more business than friendly. Not that I blame him.” She tries to smile, but it looks more like a grimace. “Anyway, what about you? How is it being back?”
“Overall, I’m okay. Today? The jury’s still out.” I lean my head back and close my eyes. “I miss him so much, you know? Like, I wonder what he’d have to say about things. It’s hard talking to him and not having him answer.”
Jules squeezes my arm. “I talk to him, too.”
The warmth of her touch almost brings back the tears. “I bet the only one he’s responding to is Chloe,” I say, going for humor once more. “Them being secret friends and all.”
Jules shifts to face me, her expression one of disbelief. “Yeah, that’s weird, right?”
“Extremely.”
She takes a small bite and examines her half-eaten slice. “You know what else is extreme? The amount of sodium on this pizza.”
Our eyes meet, and instantly, we burst into a fit of giggles. It feels so good to laugh again, to find a bit of joy beyond the grief. It’s only fitting that it would be with Jules.
She tosses her crust back into the box and wipes her hands on one of the napkins. Discarding the crust is something she’s done for as long as I’ve known her, but the routine of it brings an immeasurable sense of comfort.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I quietly confess.
Her smile is sad. “Me too,” she whispers and scoots a little closer. She wraps her arm through mine and puts her head on my shoulder.
I lean my head against hers and think that Mom was right. No matter how hard this is, I’ve never once been alone.
Jules leaves a couple hours later. We didn’t get through much, but it’s a start. Mom and Richard are downstairs drinking wine and watching television and told me I was welcome to join them, but I’m not quite ready to leave Mason’s room.
One by one, I remove the postcards from above his desk and stack them neatly into a pile. It feels wrong to throw them away when he’s kept them for so long. That’s the problem I’m having with all of his stuff. I don’t want to get rid of anything.
I sit in his desk chair and pull his guitar into my lap. Something rattles, and I curiously tilt it forward and spot a small, folded-up piece of paper within. It takes a bit of careful maneuvering, but I eventually get it out.
It’s a note written in Mason’s handwriting:
password: AlexIsAPunk
A fragment of a conversation comes to mind, one he tried to have with me after his health scare my freshman year in college. A conversation I didn’t want to have.
I glance at his computer.
“Is there porn on there?”
“Worse. Unfinished D&D campaigns.”
With shaking hands, I place the guitar back on its stand and slowly open his computer. The password prompt appears, and I sit perfectly still, wondering if this is a good idea.
But I made him a promise, and I’ll be damned if I break it.
I punch in the password and hit enter.
His wallpaper fills the screen: a large fire-breathing dragon facing off against a shielded paladin. In the bottom left-hand corner are two folders. One labeled D&D and the other Alex. My breathing picks up, and I double-click on my name.
Inside are several more folders: Journal, Photos, Movies, Games, Playlists, Financial, and Mom. Beside the folders is a video file called PLAY ME FIRST.
I’m tempted to slam the lid closed and to deal with this another day, or maybe even not at all. I wait until my breathing slows and finally click play.
The video starts with Mason sitting at his desk, his hair cut short, wearing the same Reds hoodie that he kept draped across the back of his chair. He looks exactly like he did the last time I saw him.
