stuff: the stuff we loved about her, the stuff we’ll miss most about her. There are lots of tears.
Mabel goes first. She talks about birthdays and Christmases and family vacations and how she feels like she doesn’t have a family anymore now that Meg’s gone. Mom says how she didn’t know Meg long but she’s so honored to have been part of her life. And she thanks her for her amazing granddaughter. Alan talks as if Meg’s there with us and tells her the entire plot of the most recent Korean import he saw. It’s what he doesn’t say that’s the most clear though—he misses talking to his best friend about random everyday stuff. Joni doesn’t say anything but places her hand on my arm to let me know she’s there, and that’s all I need.
When it’s my turn to talk, I pull the pink notebook— Ryden—out of my bag. Here’s what I figure: anything I say in my own words won’t do Meg justice, won’t even begin to articulate what she meant to me, what we went through together. Alan, Mabel, and Joni haven’t read the pink notebook yet. What better way to say good-bye than to read her last words aloud?
I take Hope out of Mabel’s arms and hitch her on my hip while I hold the notebook in my other hand and begin to read.
I take a deep breath. “Dear Ryden…”
• • •
The only thing left to do is let her ashes go. The six of us stare at the bag for a ridiculously long time, each waiting for someone else to make the first move. The candles have mostly flickered out, and it’s getting cold. Hope is fussing in my arms. She’s probably hungry. I smooth a hand over her hair. Time to get this show on the road.
They’re just ashes. It’s nothing to be afraid of. I pick up the bag and wordlessly walk to the waterline. I close my eyes, rest my head against Hope’s, breathing in the combination of her baby smell and the fresh lake air, and then look up at the sky. “We’ll miss you forever,” I whisper and open the bag, holding it out to the wind.
In less than a minute, all the ashes are gone, carried away on the breeze, on their way to becoming part of the sand or soil or a bird’s nest or the waves, working their way into the earth until they’re nothing but a memory.
Chapter 37
Joni finally kisses me a couple of weeks later, at work one Thursday night. She does it right in the middle of the freezer section, as we’re stocking boxes of rice-crust pizza. I reach back for her to pass me another handful of pizza boxes, but she grabs my wrist instead. I turn, and her lips collide with mine. I don’t waste a single second. I kick the freezer door shut and pull her to me. Her kiss is even better than I remembered. She walks me back until I’m pressed against the cold door, but the heat between the two of us is enough to keep me warm.
How the hell did I get so lucky? I don’t deserve her. But if she wants to be with me—and right now it seems she does—I’m sure as hell not going to say no.
When we part, the world zooms back into focus. I look around quickly. No managers or coworkers in sight. Excellent.
“Let me drive you home tonight?” I murmur against Joni’s ear. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
“Will there be more kissing?” she asks, grinning.
“I’ll have to think about it,” I say with a wink.
• • •
“What are you doing Thanksgiving weekend?” I ask Joni as we drive toward Clinton.
“The usual dinner stuff on Thursday. I already put my Tofurky order in at work. Why?”
“Well, you know how Meg found my father’s address and stuff?” We haven’t really talked about the pink journal since I read from it at the memorial, but I know she hasn’t forgotten.
“Yeah.”
“I was thinking about taking a trip down to New Jersey. To…I don’t know…see.”
She looks at me. “Really?”
“Yeah. Why, bad idea?”
“No, I think it’s great, if that’s what you want to do.”
“So will you go with me? We could leave the Friday after Thanksgiving and be back by Sunday.”
She places her hand on top of mine, resting on the gearshift. “Absolutely.”
• • •
“Are you going to call him first?” Mom asks as she helps me load my and Hope’s bags into