Page 93 of You'll Love it Here

“Oh, that’s okay,” I say quickly. “I can handle them. Plus, the firefighters are around.”

Sami’s jaw ticks. He keeps his attention directed at Irene as he says, “No problem. Those ones right there?” His thumb points over his shoulder toward the entrance.

“Yeah.” I stand. “I’ll help. Irene, I’ll call you to go over things soon.”

“Of course, dear.” Her grin is still knowing as she settles into the driver’s seat. Ernest sticks his head out of the passenger window and gets in one last scritch under his chin.

Sami’s already bounding toward the lobby. I chase after him. “Hey, Sami! You really don’t have to.”

“It’s all good,” he answers. His tone is flat as a pancake. He’s already stacked two of my boxes, hoisting them in his flexed arms. And I’m brought back to that first night when I burst into the diner. How I wish I could go back in time.

I pick up one of the boxes. “Sami, I’m really sorry. There’s so much I wish I could take back.”

“Same,” he mumbles as he makes his way outside.

He’s moving so fast I’m forced to chase after him. “Sami, please, can we at least talk?”

He finally stops short. And carefully places the boxes on the lawn next to the sidewalk. “Look, Mona. Could we skip all this?”

“Skip it?”

He rubs his chin, the scratch against his stubble audible in the quiet. “I’m just dealing with things getting harder and harder for my business, and a lot of my customers—myfriends—are fucked, and my parents are stressed, and that means Abu’s heart is... well, you know.” His face crumbles. Deep lines crease his forehead, etched there like the days have been pressing down on him one by one.

I’ve been so focused on getting Sami to forgive me for what I did, I didn’t think about all the other ways he’s hurting right now.

“Okay.” I nod. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I need to back off.”

“Great.” Sami’s expression evens out. He looks at the boxes on the lawn. “Here okay? Or can I bring them to a car?”

“Here’s great. I still need to grab a few more things before I call an Uber.” My mouth is suddenly dry. “I’ll have to track down a firefighter for that, so I guess... I guess I won’t be seeing you again.”

His head dips, his eyes briefly closing. “Good luck with everything, Mona. I’m sure you’ll land on your feet.” He raps his knuckles on the pile of boxes, then moves to cross the street.

But before he steps onto the tarmac, he pauses. I don’t allow myself to hope.

“You were right about me, though.” He doesn’t turn to face me. I watch the tight hunch of his shoulder blades as he stares ahead at the diner. “I shouldn’t have clung to the past so hard. I should’ve listened about appealing to new customers. Made some changes while I still could. Maybe it could’ve saved things.” He lets out a huff. “Anyway, back to it.”

I watch as he makes his way to the empty restaurant and out of my life for the last time.

My mom is still not home when my Uber driver drops me off with my big boxes of clothes and toiletries, and one more small box I rescued from deep in my closet. I bring everything to my room, and then sit on my bed with my dad’s box, running my thumb over his handwriting.

The flap of paper is still hanging open from when I removed the tape during my last attempt to open the package. But every time I move a finger to rip the paper, I hesitate. When I finally lock eyes with Alice, she blows a tiny, disappointed bubble at me, and I know she’s right.

Imeantto open this package a million times before, only to stop myself. Then it nearly went up in flames. Because we don’t get forever. I need to rip the Band-Aid off before my chance slips away.

I pull at the paper, a strange certainty hitting me before it even tears. It’s like something takes over, and I tear it open without hesitation.

Pez.

A whole bunch of them. Still in their individual boxes.

It almost feels like a prank. Like my dad is playing some joke on me from beyond the grave.

Princess Peach, Darth Vader, a random bunny, Woody fromToy Story.

I look from Alice’s bowl back to the box in disbelief. For five years, he didn’t have any reason to give me a Pez dispenser. But every time I saw him, he did anyway, saying: “It’s interest owing.” And suddenly, all his words—all his apologies—seem to hang in the air around me, enveloping me like water.

I stare into the abyss of Pez and notice a piece of paper is buried among them. I tug and pull out a Mylar envelope. On top is writtenMona. All the moments I treasure and the ones I wished I’d done differently.