Page 47 of One Last Thing Before You Go

“I mean, sure. Yeah. Yes. Friends.”

“Great.” He smiles, back to his regular unbothered behavior. Knox, I’ve come to learn, bounces back faster than a dodgeball, most times. Even after his break down at the convention, he was able to get back to business after only a few minutes.

“Can I say something before we move on, though?”

I stifle a smile. “Sure.”

“You look really pretty today.” His eyes shine bright, but he isn’t joking, and I know he isn’t saying it as a line. Knox just wants me to know what he’s thinking, and I hate how I can’t help the way his words make me smile.

“Thanks. But I’m not even wearing any makeup. I look like a mess,” I almost whisper, flushing. I look down at my comfort-over-fashion outfit, reconsidering my leggings and old sweater combo. Maybe I should’ve squeezed into something else? But this morning was awful as I struggled to find something that fit me and made me feel comfortable at the same time. I woke up more bloated than I have in months, unable to fit into anything that required buttons or a zipper. Stupid endometriosis.

“Nah. You look great.”

“Are you ready for today?” I ask, because we’re veering back into non-friend territory despite the conversation we just had.

“For the demo? Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

I shrug, turning back to face him. “I don’t know. Personally, I find it kind of sad. Although, I guess it’s different for me, you know? I worked here. Walter gave me this job when I had nothing. The bookstore means—meant—a lot to me. I guess it’s all kind of hitting me now, you know? Some random retail store is going to take over this spot and it’ll all be gone.”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding thoughtfully. “To me, it’s just something Walter left me in his will.” And something about the way he sounds feels like a stab to the chest.

Knox puffs out a breath. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound glib or indifferent or—I… I just realized last night that part of me might be a little jealous of you.”

“Of me?”

He scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, you—You got to know him well. I only knew him as a temporary father figure, you know? He wasn’t even in my life for a full ten years and it’s not like I got to know him the way you did. I was a kid. But I know he was a huge influence and support for you and Jenn. And I guess I can’t help but feel a little jealous.” He shrugs, bashful. “I guess sometimes I’m not as okay with this whole thing as I expected myself to be, and Saturday proved that.”

“Grief comes in so many different shapes and sizes,” I say, recalling my own experience—with Mom and Dad and with the life I lost back in New York. “Speaking from someone who knows of loss, I can tell you that much is true. I remember the days and months after my parents’ death… The countless emotions I went through. It’ll come in waves, and sometimes you won’t recognize it for what it is. Grief is fickle like that.”

“I didn’t know about your parents,” he says, his voice quiet.

I nod. “Yeah. It happened a while ago,” I shrug. “They both died in a car crash—drunk driver.”

“Jesus.” Knox winces, running his hand through his hair. “I’m so sorry. That’s terrible.”

I take a beat, feeling the familiar sting behind my eyes whenever I think too hard about my parents’ death. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s not.” I shake my head. “I want to say that you keep going, that you’ll find your groove again. But it’s not true. You’ll eventually have to find an entirely new one and that’s okay. It has to be. But you’ll never get over it. Grief will forever be a part of your life.”

“I’m not grieving him exactly⁠—”

“You might not be grieving him. But I think you can’t deny that a part of you is grieving the life that you could have had. The life he could’ve offered you. Like, if he had been a present father, involved in your life. I mean, from what we found out Saturday, it’s not that he didn’t care, but I think it’s more he didn’t know how to that was the problem. And… it’s okay to be sad and therefore grieve something you never even knew you wanted or could have had.”

“I…” He swallows once, eyes wide, gaze locked on mine. And it’s in that moment that I know I’ve hit the nail on the head.

I feel my heart fill in my chest, aching to comfort him. It’s almost as painful as it was on Saturday.

“Don’t,” he pleads with an awkward laugh. “I know that look, and you’re feeling sorry for me again.” He looks down and fidgets with his mug, avoiding my gaze.

“I don’t feel sorry for you, I feel sorry for him. Because he never got to truly know you.

At least as an adult. And I think you’re pretty great.”

His smile is tender when he finally looks up at me, heartbreak still in his eyes. “You think I’m great?”

“Come on, Knox. You know I do. I just told you so not two minutes ago.”

He shoots me a rueful smile, and nods. “I think you’re pretty great, too. And I can do the friend thing, I think.”

I laugh softly. “You think?”