Page 182 of Just One More Thing

Grease.

You have got to be kidding me.

I just sit there staring at the title while the universe laughs directly in my face.

Grease.

Movie night on The Green. The white screen flapping in the breeze. Granny loudly getting half the lines wrong and none of them quietly.

Hank snoring in his little T-Bird bandana. Jake behind me on the blanket, one arm around my waist like it had always belonged there. The smell of buttered popcorn and salt air.

His mouth brushing my ear when he said,I don’t want this to just be another summer.

My pinky hooking with his in the dark like a promise my body made before my fear could stop it.

Okay. No movies.

I click over to one of the Real Housewives because there’s nothing like watching a bunch of rich women whose lives are an absolute mess to remind you it could be worse.

Two of them are going at it. They sound like feral cats in sequins screeching at each other.

I make it less than a minute before I turn it off. I lean my head back against the chair and close my eyes.

My phone buzzes again. This time from the floor. “What?” I say out loud, to the room, to my life, to whatever cosmic intern is currently running my emotional state.

I bend down and snatch the phone up. Granny. The preview reads: I know you’re ignoring me. “I’m ignoring existence, Granny,” I tell the phone.

I tap and open the message.

I know you’re ignoring me. I’m an old woman who could keel any moment. Before I do, I wanted to tell you Jake left yesterday. Playing football again. The whole town’s been carrying on over it. For once, I kept my mouth shut and let Gladys Kravitz spread the gossip. I have to start behaving myself. More on that later. Games on The Green start this Sunday. Hattie’s sitting here right now throwing out ideas for a special hot dog. I cannot get her off THE JAKE WIENER. Walt said to tell you this: The bravest thing you will ever do is love someone. And Willard said tell that girl hello. So. Hello.

My eyes sting immediately. I react with a thumbs-up because I cannot handle actually typing words to any of that.

A new message appears almost immediately.

It’s not safe to hitchhike.

Another bubble pops up.

He turned it down.

I read it again.

Then again.

Then a third time, because surely my brain is misfiring.

I type.

Granny, he’s there

They asked him while you were here. He turned them down.

He chose you, Emory.

I stare at those four words until they blur.

He chose you.