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I sit back, my hand sliding from his as I connect the dots. My blood stills. “The list . . . you mean . . .”
He nods, his throat working. “I didn’t find it while I was cleaning up her room like I said. I’ve had it for two years. She made me promise to give it to you the second you woke up. Like, if she was asleep or something and I knew you were awake before she did. But then she . . .” He presses his lips together. “She died. And you woke up and we had to tell you that she was gone and . . . I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t see that list doing anything good for you at that point. I thought . . .” He sighs, shrugging stiff shoulders. “I thought it would break your fucking heart the way it broke mine.”
My jaw cramps, the back of my nose fills with razorblades, and my vision swims with tears. I sit frozen, torn between crawling into his lap and hugging him tight—so tight, offering every bit of comfort I can—and a voice in my head shouting that this isn’t okay.
That it wasn’t his choice to make.
That he made a promise and he broke it, keeping Claire from me for two miserable years. This list has brought my best friend in the universe back to me, made me feel her presence in a way I haven’t in ages. I’ve been so lonely and lost, and now . . .
Now, I feel whole again, the way I did when Claire was alive. When I could call her up any time of the day or night and get advice—or just the patient ear of someone who knew me inside and out, and loved me just the way I am.
“I’m sorry,” Jesse adds, his voice a minefield of emotions—none of them good ones. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”
But he wasn’t. He wasn’t at all.
“Why did you tell me that you found it?” I don’t bother to mask the hurt I feel everywhere. “Why lie, Jesse? You don’t lie. Ever. Why start with me?”
He leans closer, his pleading eyes locking with mine. “I know. And I’m sorry, Ruby. I swear. I didn’t want you being angry with me to get in the way of something you needed. The past few months, seeing you healthy and strong, but still with no light in your eyes, no sign that you were ever going to be the person you were before . . .” He scrubs a hand restlessly over his jaw, over and over. “It became pretty clear that Claire was right. You needed that list. And my gut said you wouldn’t be brave enough to do it without me.”
Teeth digging into my bottom lip, I rise and cross to the balcony railing. Below our suite, kids chase fireflies in the grass as their parents spread out picnic blankets on the lawn in front of a huge screen set up on the far side of the hotel grounds.
A movie night. It’s charming.
Claire would have insisted we go down and join in. She’d have filled her water bottle with Chardonnay from the mini fridge. I’d have grabbed an extra blanket from the closet, and we’d have snuggled up on the grass under the stars and whispered and giggled our way through the entire movie.
That’s who Claire was.
She was the leader.
I was the follower. A happy follower, but a follower, nonetheless. If I’d been here alone for some reason, I would have stayed in my room.
I would have been worried about being the only solo adult. Been more concerned about curious glances or pitying looks than enjoying myself.
Than doing what I wanted to do.
Or at least, I would have before the list.
Things are different now. I’m different.
I’d smuggle Chardonnay and watch a flick under the stars.
I’d do it alone.
I’d do it because of the list.
Because it did everything it was supposed to do—it brought me back, better than I was before.
The list made me possible.
The me I didn’t know I wanted to be. But the me I . . .
The me I love.
I turn back to Jesse, still hunched in his chair. “You’re probably right,” I say softly. “But that wasn’t your call to make, Jesse. None of it was. It was Claire’s call. And mine.”
He stands but doesn’t move any closer. The sorrow in his eyes, the resignation in the set of his jaw—they say he’s not going to argue on this count. “You’re right. I was just trying to do what was best for you.”
I huff. “But that’s not your job. I’m not a child. I don’t need or want other people making decisions for me.”
Jesse’s brows pinch together. “But isn’t that what the list is, in a way? Claire telling you what to do? What you need to be happy?”
