“Yeah, of course.”
“But you have to promise not to tell anyone.”
Her brows knit slightly. “Okay… I promise.”
I lean down a little, lowering my voice like it’s some big secret. “I actually liked your flavours better than vanilla.”
Her eyes go wide and she gasps. “I told you!”
I laugh quietly. “Alright, alright. You were right.”
She tilts her head at me. “What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“I’m pretty sure,” she says slowly, a teasing look spreading across her face, “that you just admitted I was right.”
I shake my head, laughing under my breath. “You’re really gonna make me repeat it?”
“A thousand percent.”
“Fine.” I sigh dramatically. “You were right.”
She lifts her hands like she just won something. “I’m a Gracelyn. What can I say?”
“Unbelievable.”
She smiles at me before opening her car door. “See you later, boyfriend.”
“See you later, girlfriend.”
Her door shuts, the engine turning over a second later as she pulls out of the lot. I stay there for a moment longer than necessary, watching the taillights disappear down the road. And it suddenly hits me that all this stupid, cliche dating shit isn't actually as bad as I thought they would be. Going to the movies, buying her flowers, going to dinner, getting ice cream—they are actually really fun. Or is that just because I’m doing them with Maddy?
22
MADDY
I miss you more every day
It’s been nine years since my mother passed away. Every year I think it might hurt a little less, and every year I’m wrong.
I’m sitting on the couch with a picture frame balanced in my hands, my thumb tracing the worn gold edge without really thinking about it.
It’s one of my favourite photos. Mom is holding me against her chest, her arms wrapped around me like she never planned on letting go. I’m sticking my tongue out at the camera, clearly proud of myself. Dad stands beside her with Noah on his shoulders, gripping Noah’s legs while Noah clutches a melting ice cream cone, little sunglasses pushed into his curls. Dad is looking at Mom like she hung the moon. I swear you can see it in his eyes.
“That’s my favourite one.”
I look up to find Noah leaning over the back of the couch. He studies the picture for a moment before dropping down beside me.
“Mine too,” I say. “Mostly because it’s about two seconds before you drop your ice cream on Dad’s neck.”
Noah snorts. “Mom laughed for ten minutes straight.”
“Dad was so mad.”
“Pretending to be,” Noah corrects. “He loved it.”
I set the picture back on the windowsill before we head out.
