I still did that—”
She cuts me off. “May, you were fucking drunk. Anyone could have said that shit about someone they loved who was annoying them. You weren’t the person who turned drunken words into something so awful. You didn’t tell him to do anything. You didn’t do anything but survive. You survived, and that’s okay. Jordan wouldn’t have wanted you to come out of that closet; he wouldn’t have blamed you for staying in there. He would have wanted you to live. Fucking live, May.”
Tears are streaming down my face, and I can barely speak around the lump in my throat. “I can’t—I’ve tried….”
Lucy doesn’t let me get away with that—she never has. “You haven’t—and you can. You can. If you don’t want to do it for yourself, do it for me. For Jordan. For everyone and everything we’ve lost. I love you, May. Jordan loved you. Please. Try.”
A small moan escapes my mouth. I think about the photos—about all the moments Jordan and I had together and all the moments we won’t have. I want nothing more than to dive back into the safety of my bed and never emerge, but I know Lucy’s right. Jordan would have hated seeing me this way: a ball of pain and anger and regret.
I swallow hard, then force the words out of my mouth, the words that I never thought I’d say in relation to myself again. “Okay. I’ll try.” My voice is small but clear.
“You promise?”
I nod even though she can’t see me. “Yes.”
Lucy sniffles on the other end of the line. “I love you, May Day.”
“I love you too. I really do.”
“I know.”
We say our goodbyes and then I sit up, wipe my face with tissues. My tears have finally subsided, at least for the moment. I take a deep, shuddery breath and swing my legs over the side of my bed. I pick up the box that Lucy left for me, tuck it under my arm, and walk out the door and into the hallway.
I stand in front of the door to Jordan’s room for a minute, the moment imprinting in me deep, all the way into my bones, and then reach out and turn the knob. I push open the door. His scent still lingers here. His guitar sits under the window across the room, next to his desk. The trees outside cast black shadows over it; I squint through the dark of the room to bring it into focus. What I want more than anything in the world is to have my brother appear. To see him sitting at his desk, wearing a little smile. I would walk over to him, give him the biggest hug I’ve ever given, tell him how sorry I am—how sorry I am for everything—how much I miss him—how much I love him.
I will never stop missing Jordan.
I walk into his room for the first time in almost a year, and over to his bed. I run my hand down its length, remembering, and then lie down in it, breathing in and out, whispering over and over I love you.
I must fall asleep, because I stir awake when someone sits on the edge of the mattress. I roll over and see my mom, watching me with a sad smile. She reaches down and brushes the hair off my forehead, like she used to when I was little, and then motions for me to scoot over. She lies down next to me and wraps her arms around my back. We sleep like that until morning, in Jordan’s bed.
All of a sudden, I’m like a celebrity at school. After the assembly, word got out that I’d been hanging with May over the last couple months, and now every day some dick is like Teller, what was it like making out with a crazy chick?
And then there are the freshman girls who are all soppy about it, sighing loudly when they see me in the hallway, convinced that May and I are some fucked-up version of Romeo and Juliet. Even Gwen is buying into that crap, telling me I should call May and forgive her.