Page 64 of What’s Left of Us

“Nat would have loved this,” I declare. After a final bite of food, I lay back, propped on my elbows. “Cannon Beach was nice. I get why she put it. But this…this is Nat. I bet she would’ve worn a bunch of sparkles on her face. Like those girls over there. Yeah. She’d look just like that.”

Atlas doesn’t reply right away. He stacks our garbage and sets it to the side before coming behind me. I readjust to lay my head in his lap. His hands immediately lace through my hair, winding gently through the strands. If it weren’t for the excessive heat, this would be perfect.

“Which bands do you think she’d like best?”

“The Grandfathers,” I say without hesitation. Of all the music we listened to on the way here, it was the main one that made me think of her. Not my style, but I put it in my top-five priorities anyway. They’ll be on the main stage tonight, and we’re planning to head there a few sets early to snag a good spot.

“Yeah, I thought so too.” He traces my jawline. There’s a strange look on his face, like he wants to ask a question. But he doesn’t. He eventually shifts his gaze away from me, watching the stage as they transition for the next act.

“You can say it,” I say, closing my eyes. “Whatever you’re thinking.”

“Do you think she’ll come home?”

For the briefest of moments, we’re kids again. Not even the awkward teens we were five years ago. We are children, laying in his backyard, looking up at the stars. Asking questions as big as our young hearts could imagine.

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I hope so. But…”

I have to swallow to keep the tears from coming.

“I shouldn’t have asked⁠—”

“It’s okay,” I say, then repeat it louder. Firmer. “It’s okay. I want to talk about her. I want to be able to talk about her. I don’t know if she’s coming home, but I believe she’s okay. I believe she got better, once she got out. I believe that once she escaped our dad and that house and those people…I think she got better.”

Atlas keeps touching me, calloused fingers brushing my jawline.

“And if she didn’t…I hope she knew how much I loved her.”

“She knows,” he says, voice soft but so confident. “Wherever she is, she knows.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. I force my eyes open, squinting at the bright sky. Atlas looks down at me, and the pain in my chest eases a little. “And you know I love you, too.”

“Yeah,” he says. He kisses me like I’m delicate and invincible, all at once. “You love me, and I love you.”

I close my eyes again, and soon, the next band starts to play, filling my soul with music.

Chapter 28

six years later

“So, is it as good when we’re sober?” Atlas asks as he folds into the seat beside me. He carefully places two trays between us. Normally, we’d be eating nachos and hot dogs and other fair-style food. Now though, we have a spread of vegan options. My nose scrunches at the sight before I can stop it. “Don’t make that face, baby.”

“Sorry.” I laugh and pluck a carrot from the tray. “Force of habit. It’s just…a lot of veggies.”

A heavy thrum of bass comes from the stage and I startle, chin jerking toward the gathering crowd. We come to Bumbershoot every year, but this is our first time watching from the stands. It’s also the first time The Grandfathers have returned since we saw them six years ago. We’d been on the fence about attending this year, but when they were added as a last-minute surprise, I declared it fate.

It has to be a sign, I’d told him. Nat wants us to go.

No matter that I don’t know whether she’d actually like The Grandfathers. Atlas only smiled and nodded. And here we are, halfway up the stands with a bowl of quinoa between us.

I snatch a carrot from the tray before inspecting the quinoa. I take a tentative bite and scrunch my nose, desperate to find it disgusting. Instead, I release an irritated sigh. “Dammit. It’s so good.”

“If you say so.” Atlas laughs as he picks up his burger. A vegan burger, because even though he didn’t have to join my new diet, he’s been vegan right along with me. “You know. If I didn’t know this was fake meat⁠—”

“Don’t lie.” I flick his knee, smiling as he laughs again. “But I love you for trying.”

As we eat, The Grandfathers take the stage. Six years later, they look exactly the same, at least from here. Young guys in their twenties, dressed in basic black clothes and seeming larger than life itself. Below the stands, thousands of people compress against the stage.

“I can’t believe that used to be us,” I say, nodding toward the pit.