Chapter 2
Nikki
"What is this?"
Nick drapes an arm over the steering wheel and turns to face me.
"Open it."
I have questions, but right now, they're all stuck on the tip of my tongue, and Nick is just watching me.
My hands tremble as I remove the tag carefully, not wanting to rip it.
I saved every old text and voice message, but I never thought I'd see his handwriting again.
There's no chance I'm going to let it be destroyed, so I set it gingerly in the door handle and turn my attention to the ribbon, which unravels easily with a single pull.
Part of the bow is smooshed, and the paper is a little wrinkly, as if it's been wrapped for a while. .. like maybe a year ago.
As I peel back the paper, I notice the black box underneath. It's non-descript, too big to be jewelry, too small to be clothing.
"This is from Noah?" I ask, letting my fingers traipse over the smooth cardboard, imagining him wrapping this. But it's too perfect; professional, like it had been wrapped at a gift counter.
"Yeah. He left it in my car the last time he—" Nick breaks off, swallowing the rest of his words. "He left it in my car."
The world around me feels like a blur of darkness and light, and I don't even stop to ask Nick why he wouldn't have told me about this sooner.
I don't care why he didn't tell me sooner.
I don't even care what's inside the box, because just seeing his handwriting again, the love Noah, is the best gift I've ever gotten.
When Noah took his own life, he did it without offering anyone any kind of explanation.
One day he was fine, happy and laughing and making plans for the future. The next, he had blown his brains out before Jesus Christ on the cross in the church. There was no note, nothing suspicious in his notes app, no online searches that would have shown he was about to do anything.
There were no signs, and there were no answers.
Is his last gift to me going to give me any sort of closure?
When I open the box, my hand touches something cool and smooth, curved. Confused, I reach inside and pull it out.
A snow globe?
The little flakes of fake snow and glitter settled on the bottom glint in the light coming through the windows, and as I angle it just right, I can see what's inside.
It's a picture of us, from our first Christmas together.
We look so young and innocent; I feel like I've lived a lifetime since that picture was taken six years ago.
Beneath the photo of us, on the base, is an inscription.
'Til the end.
My heart sticks in my throat, and the tears are already threatening to spill over.
""Til the end?" Nick asks, clearly confused. "What does that mean?"
I debate for a moment whether or not to keep this secret. It's not anything earth-shattering or salacious, but part of me is enticed by the idea of sharing this secret… one last piece of Noah that’s only mine.
And yet, at the same time, talking about him reminds me he was real. Some days, it feels like maybe he was a dream, something that was too perfect to be real.
"Our first date." I laugh, and the sound is choked through the tears as I sniffle.
"We were supposed to go to the movies, but I got sick and my mom wouldn't let me go out because it was too cold and she didn't want me to catch pneumonia or something.
He came over, anyway. Mom wasn't happy, at first, but when she saw he brought soup, she caved and let him stay in the living room with me.
We watched Twilight, and then the second one started playing and I asked how long he was going to stay.
He said 'til the end'. But then the next one played, and I asked again, and he said 'til the end'. "
After that, it became our thing.
How long are you going to stay? Til the end.
How long will you love me? Til the end.
We never thought too much about when the end would come.
It never seemed like it would, not on our endless movie nights, not our relationship, not in life.
I've wondered off and on for the last year, in the moments where the grief is heavier than normal, whether he did it because he stopped loving me.
There's really never been any explanation, and as beautiful as it is, the snow globe doesn't exactly clear anything up.
The smooth metal of the knob beneath the base catches against my finger, and I twist it once, just enough to catch a few seconds of a melody I immediately recognize as Christina Perri's A Thousand Years.
I close my eyes against the tears, deciding not to wind it up again. I really don't want to do this in front of Nick; I wish I'd opened it in private.
"A snow globe." Nick nods. "Cute, I guess. I thought he was going to propose or something."
"What?" I laugh through a sniffle, wiping beneath my eyes. "Why would you think that?"
Nick shrugs, sheepish. "You were together forever and he acted like that was some super important gift. Of course, I figured the box was too big for a ring, but..." He shrugs again. "I didn't expect a snow globe."
Of course, Nick doesn't understand the sentiment or why it's so valuable to me.
When I don't say anything in response, he only watches me for a minute, like he's trying to understand what he clearly can't.
"Should we go in?" I ask, tipping my head toward the church, stark against the landscape of the inky night, the towering evergreens behind it.
"Sure." Nick agrees. "The others are waiting."
I don't know why I do it, but I take the snow globe with me, tucking it under my arm as we exit the car.
It's weird, and I'm sure everyone will want to know why I brought it, but something about bringing it to the last place that Noah was alive feels appropriate.
I may even leave it here, on the steps where he took his own life.
I dig my toes into my boots as we walk, the snow compressing beneath each step as I tuck my head and force myself forward.
I haven't been here since the funeral, when I had a breakdown that made Nick's father recommend my mother have me committed to the psychiatric unit at the neighboring town's hospital.
Mom didn't take his advice, but she has made me see a therapist off and on since then.
The nosy bastard keeps delving into stuff that isn't relevant to the fact that I saw my boyfriend's brain matter and blood spattered all around the church like someone had been careless with art supplies.
It was surreal, something I was never meant to see.
But when I got the text that something had happened, I didn't wait for answers. I couldn't wait.
They'd draped a sheet over him so by the time I pushed my way past the first officer who tried to stop me from gaining entry, I didn't see him.
Just the sheet, sticky with blood that dripped down the steps, and one of his boots peeking out from beneath.
It's absurd, but my first thought was how he always liked his feet out from beneath the covers, and I was convinced he was still alive.
I stayed convinced, part of me refusing to believe any of it was real, until the funeral, when it all came crashing down on me and I shattered.
I refuse to break this time. He left me, but I have to keep going.
I don't get to give up because too many people rely on me: mom, the twins, Cici.
So, I keep going, walking into the church and slipping my hat off, shaking the snow off the bottom of my curls.
When I turn to get a glance at Nick, he's watching me curiously.
It's not the first time today that I've caught him doing that, but in the warmth of the church, the gentle glow of the Christmas lights strung round us, it looks softer.
"What?"
When his hand moves toward me, I tense, but don't move. His fingers slip over my hair, tangling a few strands between his fingers.
"You look like an angel." He murmurs, and I'm suddenly aware of how close he is. "A snow angel. Remember when we used to get all bundled up to go make them in my parents' backyard?"
"Yeah," I step back, and he allows my hair to slip through his fingers. "Where is everyone?"
I knew the memorial would be small, but the church is eerily silent.
Nick nods his head toward the nave, and I swallow.
I know this is what I've been working up to. It's the whole reason I’m here, so I square my shoulders and head to the heavy oak doors, bracing myself for what's on the other side.
Memories of blood and brain matter assault me, like an overlay as I stand there in the threshold, waiting for them to pass.
I can see the real church beneath what's in my mind's eye, my friends standing near the altar, but then transposed on top of it is everything from last year— the coroner, the police officers, Father Ryan.
"Nikki!" Alice's voice draws me out of the memory and allows it all to dissolve, so that when she begins walking toward me, it's only her that I see.
She walks fast, and before I know it, she's wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me against her.
She smells like vanilla and eggnog, like she spent the evening baking Christmas cookies before she came here.
It's what we were doing last year, standing in my mom's kitchen making every kind of cookie we could think of, before I found out that my world had changed forever.
I've barely had a chance to register seeing her again before she pulls back with her lip between her teeth, nervous.
"How are you?"
I don't know how to answer that; I don't have to, either, because her boyfriend comes behind her, draping an arm over her shoulder and grinning.
"Looking good, Nicolette."
I can't tell if it's a genuine compliment or if he's taking pity on me because I look like I have had my soul sucked out of me, but I manage a small grin for him. "Peanut. How's it going?"
"Not Peanut." Alice laughs, turning to get a look at her boyfriend. "How long has it been since anyone called you that?"
"Long time." He grins. "But I'll allow it this time."
The pleasantries end there, when I look beyond the two of them to see who else showed up tonight.
"Nic," Brant nods, and beside him Cole tips his chin toward me in the barest form of acknowledgement.
I didn't expect them to show up tonight; they weren't what I'd consider friends to Noah. But I suppose they're Nick's friends, and he deserves to have them here. He organized this whole thing after all, as an attempt to get us all back together.
Unfortunately, a few of our friends moved away after high school and haven't been back, so our friend group is down to the bones... me, Alice, Peanut, Nick.
We're not much of a skeleton, honestly. More like a skull and crossbones.
"Hey." I offer them a small wave and turn, trying not to focus on the image that's burned into my memory of the steps painted in blood.
They used to be carpeted, a beige color that they had to re-do every few years because it would show signs of wear.
Now, after all that blood seeped into it, they pulled the carpet up and sanded everything down, staining them a nice, glossy oak that matches the doors.
Even without all the lights on, I can see my reflection in the lacquer as I kneel down at the bottom step and leave the snow globe like an offering.
"Thanks for coming, Nikki," Alice says, rubbing the side of my arm affectionately. "I know it can't be easy."
"No," I agree, managing a smile as I stand up and turn to face her. "It's definitely not."
"Which is why we brought eggnog." Peanut offers, nodding at the pitcher on the table. "Want some?"
"I assume it's spiked?"
"Obviously." Alice laughs. "That's the only way to drink eggnog."
Tonight it is. I'd prefer the bottle of Bourbon they poured into it, but I'll settle for this.
"Then yes, please."
Alice smirks, turning to retrieve a cup for me as Nick sidles up to my side.
"We've all missed you, you know." His breath tickles the back of my neck, making my skin feel like it's stretched a little too tight. It's warm in here, the heat blasting to keep the space from getting too cold.
The high ceilings make it a bitch to keep this place warm in the winter and cool in the summer, but once they turn the heat on, it tends to stay on until the snow thaws in spring.
I move away from him under the guise of stripping off my coat and laying it over the back of one of the pews, unwinding my scarf to place it with it. I still have a thin sweater overtop of my tee, but shedding a few layers at least helps.
"It's good to see you all." I manage, despite the last word being a lie.
I don't know what it is about Brant and Cole, but there's always been something about them that I didn't like. Maybe it's because once Nick befriended them, he began to pull away from Noah and I. And then, he began to change, too.
Suddenly the boy I grew up best friends with was darker, quicker to anger, harder to pin down for longer than a few minutes in passing.
His distance during that time is what allowed Noah and I to get closer, but part of me still resents Brant and Cole for their part in taking away my best friend. He hasn't been the same since.
Alice smiles softly as she presses the cup of eggnog into my hands and lifts hers to me in a sort of cheers.
"Drink up." She tells me. "We're gonna need it."