63. True
A few days later, I cringed at the layer of dust on the sleeve of the Summer Walker vinyl I’d just pulled off the wall. I was supposed to be packing for my trip home tomorrow, but I wanted to test my final gift of the week from Greyson and Noah before I left.
Eyeing the vintage record player, I admired the copper horn on top of it, tilting my head to take in the details.
Noah had dropped it off with a note scrawled in Greyson’s handwriting.
Day 22
This is from both of us. I found it at a shop across town. The owner said it hadn’t worked in years. But you know Noah. He wasn’t stopping until he found the part and fixed it so you could play your records. I hope you love it, beautiful. I love you
Giddiness still filled me at the thought as I hit the round switch to turn the player on. It was plugged into the outlet by my desk because I didn’t have another flat surface big enough to hold it.
When the light glowed behind the power button, I eased the Summer Walker album out of the jacket and froze when a folded note fell to the floor, hitting the antlers on my reindeer slippers along the way.
A shiver worked through me, unease filling my gut.
I stared at the paper like it would grow legs and walk away. Or a mouth to tell me what it was, even though I had a sinking feeling I already knew.
Sliding the vinyl back into its sleeve, I set it aside and bent down to inspect the note. The cream paper was folded in fourths, and my fingers shook when I reached for it.
Once I had the paper open, I found the handwriting I’d been expecting.
True,
Please don’t be mad at me.
I know this isn’t what we agreed to when they first found the mass on my lung.
We agreed to fight to the end. Together. No matter what.
But I just couldn’t stand the thought of that when the doctor said it spread and they couldn’t operate.
I don’t wanna deteriorate in front of your eyes.
I don’t want mom to see me become a shell of myself.
I don’t want dad to have to help me to the bathroom.
And I don’t want daddy to lose his hair while he watches me lose mine.
I don’t know how we got so lucky with the family we were born into. But y’all have given me the best 28 years I could ever ask for. And I want y’all to remember me exactly how I was. Before the diagnosis. Before I become somebody else.
I know it’s selfish blindsiding you like this. Especially when you’ll be turning 29 in a couple of months. Your first birthday without me. I’m so sorry, True. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay and fight like I said I would.
But I hope you’ll understand.
I’m not leaving this letter with the others. Hopefully, you find it whenever you’re ready to read it.
I love you, True. So deep.
You’re more than my sister. More than my best friend. You are a part of my soul. As necessary as all my limbs.
I’ve known you before this life and I promise I’ll know you in the next one. We’ll both be healthy and live to a hundred in that one.
Until then…
Find your bliss, True.
Promise me you’ll write your books.
Promise me you’ll let yourself fall in love.
Promise me you’ll never stop going on adventures.
I know it won’t be the same without me, but I just need you to keep going.
You have to keep living. For me.
Promise me, True.
I was on the floor, but I didn’t remember how I got there.
The letter blurred and I flung it away from me, refusing to wet it with my tears and ruin the last thing she’d given me.
I didn’t know how long I stayed on that floor, but I sobbed for at least an hour before my body was wrung out.
She’d written it before we could turn twenty-nine together. And next week I would be turning thirty without her too.
Picking myself up off the floor, I walked to my room and collapsed on the bed, desperate to find the silver lining to justify the ache that had settled in my bones.
She wasn’t here, but I was still fighting. I would never stop fighting. At least I would get to see my parents tomorrow and celebrate our favorite holiday together.
And when I got back to Bliss Peak, I would keep every promise my sister had asked of me.