Page 98 of Kiss Slay Replay

The only thing that will come from constantly looking back is an inability to move forward.

“Oh, hey! Willa the Killa.” Luke appears out of nowhere, shooting me with finger guns.

I mime flicking the bullets out of the air. “Luke the Nuke. How are you?”

“Did you get the cooler?” Cassie asks him, annoyed. “The thing I fucking sent you to the car to get?”

He moonwalks, poorly, out of the cabin.

Cass throws her hands up. “He’s so stoned. Five minutes without the kid, and he’s high out of his mind.”

“You don’t send me enough pictures,” I say. “Such a cute baby, and I never see him.”

Cassie takes her phone out of her back pocket and shows me her lock screen—baby Theo with his nose scrunched, tongue out.

“He’s a ham,” she says, smiling. Like Evan, she’s not particularly sentimental. But to see her smiling like this at the photo, to stop and notice the affection that manifests in the swell of her cheeks, in the fine lines around her eyes, it’s special.

I don’t want to be one of those mothers who only ever talks about their kid, she’d said to me back when she was pregnant. I don’t want my kid to become my whole personality.

Maybe it’s an overcorrection that whenever we talk, we don’t really talk about him. Or maybe I’m failing her as a friend, somehow. Maybe we’re failing each other.

I always figured that love was enough, the world’s strongest adhesive, that it could hold everything together no matter what. But life is too heavy. The bonds will break under the weight if not supported.

“I’m really proud of you, Cass. You’re such a good mom.”

She sighs. “Thank you. Jury’s still out. It’s exhausting but I love the kid. Here…”

She goes through her phone to show me a video of Theo sitting on the beach in a pair of Cass’s signature dark oversized sunglasses, chilling. “Look at him! Cool as can be.”

“Wonder where he gets it from.”

“Stop,” she says, and I swear I see her blush. “Let’s be real. Not from Luke.”

Wyatt wanders out into the living room, a tie loose around his neck, confused look on his face. “Help?”

Evan kiddingly rolls his eyes and goes over to assist.

“What time does it start again?” Cassie asks. “Should I be getting dressed?”

“Cocktail reception is at five,” I say. “I know you don’t need that long to get ready, but I’m sweaty and want to blow out my hair, so I’m going to go shower, and then do you want to keep me company while I do my makeup?”

“Willa, honey, I’d love to,” she says.

I smile big and cheesy, hit some poses, then take my suitcase into my room.

I close the door and take another deep breath, flip on the lights, draw the burlap curtains, avoid looking at the spot where Ravi died. At the spot where I died. I do need to shower—and hydrate, my sweat smells like Red Bull—but the last time I was in this shower was with him, death all around us, facing another inevitable end.

There’s no place safe from memories. They’re with you wherever you go.

I take off my shirt, unhook my bra behind my back, slide off my jeans, my underwear. Fold the dirty laundry and stack it next to my suitcase. I listen for my name in the other room, but I don’t hear it. The lack of shit-talking is a pleasant surprise, a welcome divergence.

Today could be different. It feels different.

Maybe it’s wishful thinking, sweet delusion, but why not savor it for as long as I can?

—

Cass knocks on my door but doesn’t wait for permission to enter. She tosses her makeup bag on my bed and flops down beside it. “Get outta here, smokeshow. Your hair looks amazing.”