I take a calming breath, roll my shoulders and carefully open the envelope and pull the letter out, sending a ton of pink glitter and purple heart confetti soaring into the air. It rains down over me, covering my desk and bedroom floor. I’m gonna be sparkly for a month. I hate glitter. Emily knew that, it’s no oversight. The thought makes me smile; she knew she’d be pissing me off. I unfold the paper and stare down at her handwriting, attempting to focus on the words.
Blair,
If you’re reading this then I’ve obviously croaked it. Lol! I know it’s not funny but I kinda have to make a joke of it, so that what I’m writing doesn’t feel so real, you know? I’m writing this letter to you after just finishing the one I’ve written for my mom and dad. I need to lighten the mood, so I’m gonna confess something. I can say it now because I’m not here anymore and there’ll be no retaliation. It’s a cheap trick, but you know you love me.
Last year when Corey Spencer asked you out, and then cancelled on you at the last minute, I may or may not have accidentally told him that you used to write Mrs. Blair Spencer and practice your signature at the back of your journal. And I may have also told him that you had your kids’ names picked out already. I know, I know, I totally freaked him out! I thought he’d laugh and tease you about it on your date, but I guess he kinda thought you were a bunny boiler and bailed. Sorry!!!
Okay, so now that I have that off my chest, I need you to do something for me and you can’t say no, because it’s a dying girl’s wish! Yeah, I know, I played the dying BFF card. But please, just think about it.
So, I have a bucket list. Totally morbid and cliché, but never mind. Last year when I was told the cancer wasn’t going away I listed all the things that I wanted to do before I take my Long Sleep. I didn’t tell you or Mom because I wanted something that was just mine, that I’d achieved, and I managed to cross a few of them off. You were actually with me for most of them, but not all of them, and that’s where I need your help.
I figured that there has to be something after this life, right? This can’t just be it; at least I hope this isn’t just it. If there is such a thing as reincarnation and I can still visit you or see you from my cloud (yep, I’m totes gonna spend my days laying out on clouds), then if you finish my list it would be like me getting to experience it. I know it sounds crazy but hear me out. You’re the closet person to me. My mom always says we’re practically the same girl with different hair. And if it were the other way around, I would do this for you. I’d complain and bitch about it, but I would still do it.
My list is attached. I know what I’m asking is probably unfair, but you know how I hate not finishing something I started, be it homework or cheesecake. Lol! So, #10 is a ridiculous ask—you really don’t have to do that—but a kiss would suffice. :-) I really wish I’d made a play for that hot piece of ass.
Anyway, if you decide you can’t, don’t worry, I won’t haunt you. I love you more than the stars.
You’re the most awesome friend a girl could ever have wished for. I have so many awesome memories and every one of them includes you. You have been my shoulder to cry on, my punching bag, literally and verbally. You made me feel happy when I didn’t think there was anything to be happy about, and I’m gonna miss you the most. You’re like the other half of me, the Bert to my Ernie, the peanut butter to my jelly!!!
I love you, Blair. I always will.
Emily xoxo
P.S. You would have totally been my maid of honor when I finally married Ethan Jamison and had a billion of his sexy ass babies.
I feel my cell vibrate and I don’t have to look at the screen to know it’s Mom. The only other person who ever called was Emily. I don’t have many friends, or ones who call me, anyway. Emily and I were practically joined at the hip; she was the cool, outgoing one and I was the shy, awkward one.
She was the person everyone gravitated towards, drawing people in like moths to a flame. You couldn’t help but notice her light. Since she’s been gone, Casey and Brie have made several attempts to get me to hang out but it just feels too weird without Emily being there as my buffer. They were always more her friends than mine. We have zero in common without Emily.
“Hey,” I answer.
“Hi, honey, I’m on my way home from the office now, dropping by the store. Is there anything you need me to pick up?”
She sounds entirely too freaking happy for my mood at the moment.
“No Mom, I’m good, I’m just studying, so I’ll see you when you get back.” My voice sounds all scratchy from crying and I know she’ll call me out on it, so I press end on the call before she gets a chance.
That leaves me about forty minutes to get my shit together before she’s home. I quickly fold the letter and put it in my desk drawer before heading to the bathroom to wash my face, and hopefully gain some perspective on what the hell I just read.
I can hear pots and pans banging in the kitchen as I step out of the shower, which means Mom must be making dinner. I’m starving and right on cue my stomach rumbles. I head to my room, dry off and pull on a pair of yoga pants and my bright green t-shirt that says ‘Mathletes’ across the chest. I study myself in the mirror; my long brown hair is a matted wet mess that’s soaking the back of my shirt so I quickly tie it in a messy bun on top of my head. I’m slim and relatively short. Five feet five inches actually, which isn’t tiny, but considering my mom’s five eleven and my dad was six two, you’d think I’d be taller.
I used to think that maybe I was adopted, but then as I got older, I started to really look like my mom, minus the height. We are both ridiculously pale skinned, with dark brown hair and the same big almond-shaped green eyes, although mine are always hidden beneath my glasses. I have contacts but prefer to wear glasses; poking myself in the eye every day to put in and take out contacts is a pain in the ass.
Mom shouts up that dinner’s ready and I make my way downstairs to say hello. I walk into the kitchen and she’s sitting at the island, two plates of mac and cheese and a half drunk bottle of wine in front of her. There was none open when I came down to get a drink earlier, and she’s only been home about twenty minutes. Guess she’s on a mission to get wasted. Don’t get me wrong—she’s a good mom, but since dad died about three years ago, there’s not many nights that she’s not half cut. I make a point of not talking about it, and she’s happy to ignore the fact that she’s not gonna find the answer to her problems at the bottom of a bottle. It’s a pretty messed-up situation. We can talk about almost anything else, just not that. Emily was the only person I ever used to talk to about it. Hell, I miss her.
“HERE, TRY THIS, it’ll help,” my mom says, passing me an ice pack for my jaw. When dad saw my report card and noticed I wasn’t pulling straight A’s he was more than a little pissed at me.
“He’s under a lot of pressure at work, sweetheart; you know that. He has high expectations for you about college, Ethan.”