Never Say Yes To Your Brother’s Best Friend (I said Yes)

1. Aspen

Chapter one

Aspen

I ’m one of those people grief should have killed, but I’m still here.

My brother was twelve years older, and the thing about having a sibling so many years apart is that they become an adult before you do. They experience far more life before you even begin to figure out what living is. Jace saw more of life than I’ll ever hope to know. He joined the military at seventeen because he graduated early. I was just going into kindergarten then. My dad was so proud. My mom too. She wasn’t even Jace’s real mom, but she loved him like she was. I remember all of us standing there, seeing him off. My parents. Jace’s mom. We all got along well, which wasn’t something I really understood to be a thing when I was five, but I know it’s a thing now. We all waved Jace off when he joined the military. Everyone put on a brave face, even though the three adults were terrified something would happen to him. I was just proud because they acted like they were proud too. I didn’t know that under those forced smiles, their hearts were aching, and there would be so many sleepless nights to come, worrying about him.

Jace trained here first, but I was still just a kid when he went overseas. There were letters and videos, emails and texts. When my parents hung up the phone, there were so many tears in private, even from my dad. I thought it was because they missed my brother, but even when I was young, I started to see what the reality of having someone in the military meant.

Proud or not, we all missed Jace so freaking much.

When he came home, we thought maybe it might be for good.

It wasn’t. Over the years, the details became sketchier and sketchier. Jace stopped being able to tell us anything, and my parents stopped asking because they didn’t want to put him in that position. All we knew was that he was in Special Forces, and he was doing the kind of stuff we shouldn’t know about.

Even at eighteen, I knew Specials Forces wasn’t the kind of spy shit you saw in the movies. It was dangerous. I told my brother that if he ever got killed, I’d be so mad at him, and I’d never forgive him, so he had best never do it. He promised me he wouldn’t.

For six years, life went on. I went to college, graduated, got my first real job, had my heart broken a few times, and worried constantly. I did life while Jace wasn’t here to see it, and I always, always wished he was. Missing him was a perpetual ache.

Last year, he broke that promise.

It was a joke kind of promise. I wasn’t serious. He knew I wouldn’t hate him. It was just my plea to please, please, please come home safely.

We didn’t get his body back. That’s the worst part. Because it makes all this feel less than real. Except I know it is real because my parents have aged ten years in the past twelve months. My life has been on a frozen, paused hold where nothing feels real, yet everything is so real all the time that it could freaking crush me.

I’m twenty-five now. But Jace is always going to be thirty-seven. Until the end of time, he’ll never grow old in my mind. Until the end of time, I’ll do anything and everything I can to keep him alive in my memory, no matter how much it hurts. No matter how, sometimes, I could die or scream with the anguish of it. There are days, even a year later, when I have to lock myself in a bathroom or step into an alley and give in to the private, heart-wrenching sorrow. Some days, I can smile and laugh, but other days, the grief eats away at me. I want to celebrate Jace. I want to celebrate each and every minute we have spent together, but at the same time, it’s so hard knowing there isn’t ever going to be another.

No, that’s wrong.

A few days ago, my life changed. It was like Jace was speaking to me from the grave. No, more than like. He was. Is. I can imagine him right here with me, on this plane, flying across the country. I can imagine him smiling at me and giving me those dopey thumbs up and telling me I rock like a sock.

There’s only one letter. There isn’t going to be another. When the lawyer gave it to me the day after the anniversary of Jace’s death, he told me there was just one letter. It was left in his care, and Jace gave him instructions.

I have to say, I wouldn’t want to carry out final notices like that, but this guy? He was a pro. It was like he’d never had an emotion in his entire life.

The letter is folded safely in my backpack, which is tucked under the seat. I couldn’t bring myself to put it in the overhead bin. I got a window seat, and it felt too far away. If I couldn’t reach for it at all times, I thought I might go insane, and going insane on a four-hour flight from Atlanta to California just wasn’t an option I wanted to consider. If there had been turbulence, I might have turned into a hot mess anyway, but so far, the flight has been totally smooth. Just some ear popping when it took off and some snoring from the extremely old man next to me, but that’s it.

I’ve read and reread the letter enough times in the past twenty-four hours that I know every word by heart, but the letter is precious, just like the few things I have left of Jace.

He wrote those words. He touched that paper. He thought about dying and what would happen after. He thought about me and everything he wanted to do for me and wouldn’t be able to do. He wanted me to be safe, happy, loved. He wanted me to be protected, to find adventure, and to live with an open heart. He imagined all this for me—a golden kind of future—all while knowing that if I ever read the letter he was writing, it would mean he was gone and that he had no future, no love, no life, and no family of his own.

My nose starts to burn like I’m going to sneeze, which is always the first sign that I’m going to cry. And not just a regular cry but a massive ultra-ugly cry.

I make myself take shuddering and gasping breaths to try and keep it together.

It’s hard to get myself under control.

For one, I miss my brother like crazy. His letter opened up the box I’ve tried to cram and ram and jam all my grief into for the past year. And two, the letter was pure craziness, but here I am, less than twenty-four hours after getting it.

Let me start by saying I hated my job. So when I called in saying I needed a week for this one last mission and they were less than understanding, I quit on the spot. I would have given two weeks’ notice if I could have, but I just couldn’t. Jace didn’t put a timeline on it, but once I got his letter and read it, I knew I had to do this, and I had to do it now . It wasn’t the kind of thing I could just sleep on for two weeks or a month or six months and then decide to do it. I knew I’d talk myself out of it because this was just…just the most insane thing I’d ever done, but it was what my brother wanted.

The little old man next to me suddenly wakes up with a snort and a grunt that also sounds suspiciously like a simultaneous fart. He doesn’t seem to mind. He takes off his super huge round glasses and rubs at his soft, dark eyes with two fists. He’s thin. Rail thin. He looks about ninety, and he’s rocking a bright pink T-shirt, purple suspenders, and a set of jeans that look to be from the fifties. They probably are. He’s also wearing those hiking-style boots that everyone wears now because they’re so popular. The ones from Australia. No, I don’t have a pair. They might last forever, but they’re not in my budget.

He seems like the kind of guy who expresses himself through clothing. I think that’s awesome. I’ve never had the talent for it. I’m a regular button-up blouse and black skirt at work kind of a girl, and when I don’t have to adhere to semi-formal attire in the office, I can regularly be found in jeans and nondescript long-sleeved shirts or plain T-shirts. I at least choose the kind that has some shape to them, but as far as designs go, I don’t know. I’m just not very inventive. I like to be able to throw on clothes in under a minute, sweep my hair up, and be ready for the day. I hate standing in front of a mirror, trying to decide if something looks good. I’m never going to be one of those people who berate themselves for not being pretty enough, curvy enough, tall enough, or buxom enough. I went there as a teenager, and it sucked. I’m not going back.

“You’re heading to San Diego too?” This old guy is absolutely adorable when he grins and beams at me. The smile does wonders for his wrinkles. Old person wrinkly face smiles are the best. I don’t really understand people who don’t like seniors because I would way rather sit and talk to old people than talk to anyone my own age. It’s not an old soul thing. It’s more a dislike for pop culture and most things technology-related thing. Okay, maybe it’s an old soul thing.

“I am.” Shit. My eyes fill up with tears again, and I blink hard.

“You’ve been missing family, and you’re going home?” he asks kindly. “John, by the way. So you know who you’re talking to.”

“Aspen.” I swipe at my eyes. “Like the tree.” I don’t tell him my last name. But it’s Oak. Yes, truly. Aspen Oak. I’m not messing around here. My parents might have thought it was cute, giving me a double tree name, but people don’t take me seriously, and right now, I’m not up for having a discussion about it.

“I always did like aspens. They’re mighty good trees. But then, I never did meet a tree I didn’t like. They’re good stuff all around, you know?”

He’s right. Trees are good shit. All of nature is good shit. Jace loved being in it more than he loved anything, even his job. If he’d lived long enough to retire, he might have bought a cabin in the middle of nowhere and spent the rest of his years in solitude and peace.

God, maybe he did that, and I didn’t even know about it. I didn’t know where he even was half the time.

I don’t want to think about the reality of him being nowhere now, at least not on this earth where I can find him, so I imagine him teaching bushcraft and doing some survival thing with kids and adults alike. He always had to be doing something.

“Sorry.” I brush at my eyes again. “No, I’m not going to see family. I actually live in Atlanta.”

“Oh? I’m the opposite. I live in San Jose, but I was visiting my son and his sons and their sons in Atlanta. I’m ninety-four this year. They think I’m too old to fly, too old to drive, too old to do anything. They want me to come back out there, but I always loved San Jose. That’s where I wanted to retire, and I’ve done it and lived there for thirty years now. It’s my home, and I probably won’t be leaving it even after I shuck off the mortal coil.”

“Oh! Don’t do that!” I reach for his hand before I can stop myself. He lets me put mine on his and then pats it with one that’s gnarled up and full of crepe-thin skin and very blue veins.

“When you get to my age, dear, it’s more of a reality than it is an if . I’ve had a good life. No, I’ve had a great life! I’m still traveling, still mobile, and I still have my independence.” He does a huge wrinkly face grin again and taps his head with his free hand. “And at least most of my faculties.”

That makes me smile a watery smile because John isn’t forcing it. He’s naturally melting my heart. I can tell he’s a good man, and I want to sit here all day and hear his stories. I’m sad we’re going to be landing in half an hour or less.

Thirty minutes.

I have thirty minutes to get my shit together.

Okay, maybe a little longer because I have to get my bag and a coffee, go get the rental car I booked, and then take a freaking breath before I punch in the address I memorized from the second neatly typed sheet of paper the lawyer gave me.

“I don’t doubt it, John. You’re sharp as a brand new tack.”

His grin deepens, as do his wrinkles. He’s mostly bald, except for a few spare hairs behind each ear. It makes his ears look extra huge and a little bit saggy, which just makes him look infinitely adorable.

“So you’re going to visit friends down here? It’s very nice. All of California is. The beaches are marvelous, dear. You’re in for a great vacation. And you’ve come during the extra hot season. July is sometimes unbearable, but at least the nicest parts of the beach aren’t so crowded. The college kids have long come and gone. Oh, unless it’s debauchery you were hoping for. There’s still plenty to be had, no doubt.”

“No!” I gasp, laughing softly. “Not debauchery.” My hand is still on his. I give it a squeeze. “Well, not—I don’t think so. I’m going to San Jose to meet a man I’ve never met. He was my brother’s best friend. They…uh… worked together. My brother died last year.”

“Oh.” John’s face crumples and his eyes mist over. He can’t cry. If he cries, I’m finished. “I’m so sorry, dear.”

“Me too.” I’ll never stop being sorry. I’ll never stop missing Jace. There are a lot of days where it hurts more than I think I have the capacity to bear. “I got a letter from his lawyer yesterday. It was to be given to me the day after the one-year anniversary of his death. My brother wasn’t like that. He wasn’t into easter eggs or playing games or drama like that, so it really shocked me.”

“I see.” John can clearly tell there’s more coming. At his age, he’s learned patience.

“In his letter, he told me about his best friend. I never met him. I never even knew about him. They had a job where…where they couldn’t really talk much about it. Anyway, this friend stopped doing what they were doing—I don’t know if retired is the right word—a few months before my brother wrote the letter. I know I’m not going to make any sense, but basically, he told me he wanted me to find his best friend and look after him.”

“Oh. Oh, I see. That’s quite a thing to ask.”

I haven’t told him the most shocking part. Maybe I don’t want to admit to myself that my brother would ask me to do it.

I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who I thought would be a better match for you in every way. Give happiness a shot because life is far too short, and it runs out on all of us sooner than we’ll ever think.

“His best friend never had anyone, I guess. He had no family, not even when he was young. He’s alone. Without Jace, I’m an only child, but I’ve always had my parents and my friends.”

“He no doubt wanted you both to find happiness and give it a real shot.”

Yes, he said that. Almost word for word. It was a little bit jarring to hear it from the mouth of a stranger.

I know this might be a touch crazy and a whole lot idealistic, but you’re two people I care about very much. I’m worried about you both. If you can find love, give it a shot. With each other. Nothing would make me happier than if you both got married and made a go of it. Have a family. Be each other’s best friend. Be each other’s special person. Learn to love him if you can. He’ll learn to love you the same. I know it.

Something about this sweet old man prompts me to tell the truth. “I think I’m going to San Jose to marry a man I’ve never even met just because my brother thought it would work out. It’s kind of his last wish ever, so how can I not do it?”

John clears his throat. “Goodness. In my day, a quick courtship wasn’t so unheard of because, you know, the urgency and all that. People burned the same back then, but it was frowned upon to do it before marriage, so marriages happened toot suite, and once you got married, you tried your darndest to make it work. It was a different time. The world seemed different. Maybe it was. I married my Maybel three months after we first met. She was beautiful. Just wonderful. She was, and always will be, the best woman I’ve ever known. We had a lot of good years together, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. Sixty-some years of marriage isn’t easy. A single year isn’t easy. A single day, sometimes. You just have to take it as it comes.

“I don’t know about marrying someone just because your brother wants it, but I can say that nowadays, divorce is much easier. You could give it a go, just to say you did. Who knows? Maybe it’ll work out. I’ve heard of worse things. Things like apps that order dates to your door. Maybel would have said that was for hussies—man or woman. She would have said it was hussy- like behavior, and being a hussy was right at the top of her shitlist. She didn’t like fast men or fast women. She slapped me a good one the first time I ever tried to kiss her, and then she told me that I wasn’t getting any of her milk until I bought the cow. It just made me laugh and laugh and laugh while she turned eight shades of red. I never let her forget it. I don’t think she could ever look at milk in any form the same way again.” After saying all that, his face changes. He’s still happy, but the wistfulness and all the love is there. “Goodness, I miss her. It’s been nearly three years, but you never get used to it. I know I shouldn’t talk about dying because it upsets people, but if what comes after is as good as people say it is, I’ll be right glad to see her again—however it comes.”

It’s a nice thought. Not one I really believe in, but I’m not going to tell him that. I’m not going to spoil anything. There’s a huge part of me that wishes it could be real—seeing people again, knowing them. It’s more than a nice thought. If that could happen, I wish it for everyone, no matter what form it would take.

Whatever it is, I do know John is right about one thing. You never get over a loved one being gone. Never .

Also, he didn’t straight up tell me that I should turn around and get on the next flight back to Atlanta because all of this is, without a doubt, trouble, so that’s a bonus. I think.

“I’ll give you my address, Aspen. In case things don’t work out and you need a place to stay, or in case you need any help at all, you look me up, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I have a landline. Do you know what that is?”

I chuckle. “Yes, John, I know what that is.”

“You can call that.”

“Alright.” Darn it, my tears are going to get the best of me again. This sweet old soul will probably never know what this means to me. But then again, he probably does. “Thank you.” It’s so inadequate, but it’s the best I can do.

I don’t let go of John’s hand until we’ve landed. He doesn’t let go of mine either.