is low. “Do you know how many nights I’ve thanked the universe for the fact that you’re still here?”
Tears run down my nose. I’m frozen in place on my bed. I want to scream and yell and hug her and disappear, all at once.
She continues, “Look. I can’t stay. Grann drove me here, but on the condition I didn’t bother you for too long. She’s worried. We all are. Chim wanted to come with me, but Grann said that one of us was enough for the time being. I mostly just wanted to bring you something—I’m going to leave it on your desk, okay?” She stands and walks across the room. I hear her put something on the desk. “Will you call me, once you’ve looked at it?” She pauses, waiting, and then says, “It’s okay. You don’t have to answer. I love you. I’m here for you, whenever you need me. Okay?”
The door closes behind her and I roll to face the wall, crying myself back into oblivion.
* * *
—
When I wake next, it’s dark outside. My alarm clock says it’s seven p.m. My heart aches. The ghost of Jordan is everywhere in this house, swimming through me with every breath.
As I stir from my sleep, I notice how stuffy it is in here. Like no fresh air has come in for days. Suddenly, I can’t stand it: the bedsheets twisted around my legs, the clothes I haven’t changed in days.
I throw off the sheets and sit up. A small bit of moonlight filters through the window. In it, I see a shoebox on my desk. A piece of notebook paper sticks out of its side. I sit on the edge of my mattress for a few minutes, staring at it. I don’t know if I can take any more surprises.
I stand and walk over to the box and grab the piece of paper. It reads: He knew how much you loved him.
I open the box and it’s filled with photos—hundreds of them. Jordan, Chim, and me, sitting at a table at one of Lucy’s shows. I remember it so clearly—Chim had just told us the dumbest/most amazing joke ever about a grasshopper walking into a bar, and for the rest of the night Jordan and I teased her mercilessly. In the photo, Jordan is mid-laugh. I forgot how he looked when he laughed; he threw his entire body into it, no holding back.
Another photo, from our sixth birthday party. We’re sitting in front of a cake, and Jordan’s blowing out the candles. I’m looking at him with this expression of absolute, pure love on my face. I remember when I felt like that about him, like no matter what, it was the two of us, in it together.
It takes me a solid hour to look through all the photos. By the time I’m done, I’m a total mess, snot running from my nose, tears trailing lines down my face, but something inside me has lifted. Something that’s been tearing at me for a year. Longer. Something that started when Jordan and I grew up and apart, got bigger when I started partying and lost myself, and took over my whole soul after the shooting. Somewhere along the way, I forgot what is true: Jordan and I loved each other—before anything else, that was the absolute truth of my life.
I’m still staring at the photos when my phone rings.
It’s Lucy.
“Did you look at them?” she says to my hello.
“Yeah.” I swallow hard. There’s a lump the size of the Mount Everest in my throat.
“I went through all the old photos on my phone and on Grann’s phone, and your mom sent me some, and I printed them all out….I wanted you to see it, May. To be able to hold the proof in your hands. That you were happy. That Jordan was too. That you loved each other. You need to remember history as it actually happened, not as your brain is trying to get you to see it. Not how that asshole is trying to get you to see it.”