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“I’m never going to forget it.”
“Me neither.”
We stand that way for a long time.
There are a lot of things I could say. That she’s been the best thing to ever happen to me. That I’m glad I broke all my rules for her.
That I’m better than I was before I knew her.
I could tell her more about Anita, give my birth mother a name. Even tell her that Mom thinks Tillie has broken my curse, that I can get attached to someone now. That my feelings for her are new to me, proof I can move forward, that I can plan for a future like she does.
But those admissions won’t make things easier, not like Lila insisted.
And they’re pointless if this is the end.
It feels like the end.
Her tears drip on my arm, and the only thing that makes sense to do is just hold on.
The future has arrived. Our time is done.
Chapter 27
TILLIE
I don’t sleep much in the condo. I’m flooded with a thousand regrets about not spending the last night with Gabe.
I’m grumpier than I should be with Lila the next morning as we pack our things. I know I chose to stay and help rather than be with him. But big-sister guilt trips are hard to shake.
To her credit, Lila knows not to poke the beast. She gives me easy tasks. Empty the fridge. Gather the laundry.
When it’s time to take the garbage bags to the dumpster, I volunteer. But after I drop them off, I can’t help myself. I take the path to the beach for one last look at the closed-up bar. Gabe won’t be here for hours to open it. But I wanted to see it one more time.
I take a shot with my phone, something about the shuttered hut against the gray sky a match for my melancholy.
I need to think happy thoughts about our time together, not sad ones. But it’s impossible.
I’m reminded of an embroidered pillow we had growing up. Mom must’ve bought it at some point. By the time I was old enough to read the words stitched on the front, it was ratty and stained. But I remember what it said.
Don’t be sad that it ended. Be happy that it happened.
Ensley hated that pillow. She felt it was some terrible message from the universe that we should see the silver lining about Mom dying. I remember her punching it on bad days, her girl fists flying. But it was indestructible. The seams never gave way.
It disappeared sometime during high school, and I never asked anyone about it. I wouldn’t be surprised if Ensley finally tossed it. By then she was out of school and working and helping out. Things weren’t nearly so dire, and tossing something we could still use would have felt less wasteful.
I want that pillow. Or maybe one of Gabe’s mother’s candles that saysfuck sadness. It would smell like cotton candy and happiness. I bet she has one.
I toy with the idea of taking a stick and digging the pillow words into the sand, but several tourists wander by, and I can’t bring myself to carve such a lengthy expression in front of an audience.
Even so, I like the idea of leaving a message behind. I walk to the back side of the hut and smooth the sand right where Gabe will step when he unlocks the swinging section of the counter. I’m in the shadow of the bar and nobody’s looking back here.
But what to say?
Ensley has no end of positivity mantras, but I can’t text her about it. She’ll insist on knowing what it’s for, and that won’t end well.
I choose a stick and draw a big heart. Cheesy, but timeless.
Then I scratch out,We’ll always have La Jarra.
