“I’ll do it,” Mabel says without hesitation.
I pull the phone from my ear and stare at it. Has everyone in the world gone nuts? You’d think this sort of thing would require a fair amount of coercion. Apparently not. “You will?”
“It’s what Meg would have wanted. Plus, I doubt my parents will even notice—they’re off in la-la land pretty much twenty-four seven these days.”
“That was a lot easier than I thought it’d be.”
“When does this whole thing go down?” Mabel asks.
“I was thinking next weekend? Sunday?”
“Sounds good. Did you tell Alan about it yet?”
“Not yet. I figured I’d ask you about the ashes first.”
“Admit it: you’re scared to call him,” she says.
Oh Jesus. “What do you know about it?”
“He told me what happened—we talk, you know. Though if I didn’t hear it from him, I would have heard about it from someone. You didn’t exactly choose the most private place for your mental breakdown.”
“It wasn’t a mental—” Oh, hell. “Are people at school talking about it?”
“Um, yeah. I mean, everyone knows you’re dealing with a lot so no one’s, like, making fun of you or anything. You could probably drive a bus full of nuns into the lake and still be Mr. Popularity. But the Shoshanna/Dave gossip is delicious. Of course people are talking about it.”
I sigh. “So you think Alan’s gonna forgive me long enough to come to the memorial? We can’t really do it without him.”
“Guess you won’t know until you try.”
“Yeah.”
There’s a brief silence. “He told me about Joni.”
I chew on the inside of my bottom lip. “He did?”
“Yeah.”
“So, um, what do you think?”
“It’s not any of my business…”
“But?”
She laughs. “But…it’s good she’s there for you. Helping you at the party and all that.”
“She was the one who came up with the idea for the memorial,” I tell her.
“She sounds like a good person.”
“She is. Well, see ya, Mabel.”
“See ya, Ryden.”
I end the call and dial Alan’s number before I talk myself out of it.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Alan, it’s Ryden.”
“I know.”
“Right. ‘99 Problems.’”
“Nah. You’re ‘I Used to Love H.E.R.’ by Common now.”
Wonderful. “Well, I wanted to say I’m really sorry about pretty much everything, and thank you for everything you’ve done for me and Hope. I really do appreciate it, even if it doesn’t seem like it.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line.
“And, um, we’re going to have a memorial for Meg. Next Sunday at the hidden spot at the lake your family took her to when you were kids.”
“I haven’t been there in years,” Alan says. “How do you know about that place?”
“She took me there. It sorta became our place.”
“Oh.” A pause. “I didn’t know that.”
“Anyway, Mabel’s going to steal Meg’s ashes from her house, and we’re going to say a few words and scatter them there. You want to come?”
“Hold up—Mabel’s going to steal her ashes? Are you fucking crazy? Is she fucking crazy?”
Finally, a logical response to this insane plan. “Uh, I guess?”
I can almost see Alan shaking his head in the silence that follows. But then he says, “You bet your ass I’ll be there.”
• • •
All week, I’ve been counting down the days to the memorial.
I’ve had so much schoolwork to catch up on from the week I missed—though Mrs. Schonhorn said if I study hard for her test next week and get at least an eighty-five, she’ll let the homework I missed slide. Love that woman.
Plus, I’ve had to deal with all the gossipy bullshit at school. Half the guys think I’m a hero for hooking up with Shoshanna, and the other half think I broke the bro code by trying to sleep with Dave’s girlfriend. Half the girls think I’m a total asshole who was using Shoshanna, while the other half throw themselves at me now that I’m “ready to start dating again.” They’re all a bunch of fuckheads.
I see Shoshanna every day in AP English, but she barely looks at me. I don’t blame her. I haven’t seen Dave much now that I’m off the team and spending lunch in the library to catch up on work. I hear they broke up though.
Joni hasn’t been able to come over all week because we’ve both been really busy with work and homework. But I’ve seen her at work almost every day, and we’re almost back to normal—joking, laughing, talking. No touching. Not yet.
Anyway, it’s probably weird that I’ve been looking forward to the memorial—something else for my future therapist to analyze—but it’s really kept me going. It will be nice to have all the people who are important to me in one place to remember Meg. ’Cause that happens, like, never. Or maybe I’m just looking forward to introducing Joni to my mother.
Sunday morning arrives, and I put on my favorite jeans and a button-down shirt. I wash my hair too. Now that Hope isn’t crying quite so much, I have a little more time to work with in the shower. I’m never going to take little things, like having time to use conditioner, for granted ever again.
Joni borrows Elijah’s car and meets me at my house.
I’m sitting on the stoop when she rolls up. She looks amazing. Bright red dress that’s tight around the top and then flares out at her waist and black cowboy boots. Her nose ring is a black stone. I stand as she walks over and have to stop myself from pulling her into my arms and kissing the top of her head.
“Hey,” she says, smiling.
“You look really beautiful.”
She looks down at her dress. “You sure? I wasn’t sure if the red would be appropriate or not. I have another dress in the car in case—”
“It’s perfect.”
Joni rocks back on her heels, her hands on her hips. “Thanks. You look nice too.” She reaches up tentatively and brushes a thumb across my eyebrow scar, the corner of her mouth quirking up. Then her face becomes serious. “Are you sure you want me to come today?”
“Of course I do. Why?”
“I don’t know, because I didn’t know Meg? It’s only going to be people who knew her and loved her. I don’t know if they’d appreciate me being there.”
I take both her hands and look her in the eye. “I really want you to be there. Besides, everyone already knows you’re coming.”
She gives me a nervous smile. “Okay.”
“Come on.” I nod toward the house.
She follows me inside, and we find my mother in the living room, dancing around to Sia’s “Chandelier” with Hope in her arms. Mom stops when she sees us and holds a hand out to Joni. “You must be Joni. I’m Deanna.”
Joni shakes her hand. “Great song,” she says.
Mom laughs. “Oh yeah, we’re going to get along just fine.”
• • •
Mom, Joni, Hope, and I meet Alan and Mabel at the turnoff to the one-lane road that leads to the dirt road, and they follow us in their car as we drive farther and farther into the woods until we reach the point where we have to go on foot. The beach at this time of year—bare and chilly, the water uninviting—reminds me of the last time I was here with Meg. We huddled together under a blanket, watching the water as if we weren’t on a deadline. I can’t believe that was nearly a whole year ago.
Mom squeezes my hand. “This is really beautiful, bud,” she whispers.
I nod. Now that we’re here, the anticipation has disappeared, leaving only nerves and a slightly sick-to-my-stomach feeling in its place.
I get the candles out of my bag, and Mom helps me put them in the sand and make it look all pretty. Then Mabel removes a shoe box from the shopping bag she brought with her. Inside the box is a gallon-size Ziploc bag. And inside the bag are the ashes. Mabel holds it out to me, like she’s actually expecting me to take it, like it’s nothing. “I left the box where it was on the windowsill,” she explains. “My parents will never look inside.”
“What do you mean?” Mom asks. “Your parents don’t know you took them? Oh, I don’t know how I feel about—”
“It’s okay,” Mabel says. She sounds really sure of herself. “I left some behind. For them to scatter themselves, if—when—they ever decide to.”
She’s still waiting for me to take the bag, but I can’t move. That’s Meg in there. All that’s left of her are millions of tiny gray flakes, one indistinguishable from the next, like the stuff that comes out of our vacuum when we empty the canister.
My gut lurches, and I force my feet to move. I barely make it to the edge of the woods before I throw up. I stay there, heaving, until there’s nothing left to come out. I feel a hand on my back. “It’s okay, Ryden,” Mom says quietly. “We don’t have to do this if you’re having second thoughts.”
I right myself and wipe my mouth with the tissue she’s holding out to me. “No. Let’s do it.” Everyone is waiting over on the beach, looking solemn. The bag of ashes is sitting on the sand now. Mabel is holding Hope.
I clear my throat and walk slowly back. “Sorry, guys.”
“Don’t apologize,” Alan says, staring at the bag of ashes. “I feel like doing the same thing.”
“Okay, well…” I say. “I guess we should start. Who, uh…who would like to say something?”
One by one, we talk about Meg. The good stuff: the stuff we loved about her, the stuff we’ll miss most about her. There are lots of tears.
Mabel goes first. She talks about birthdays and Christmases and family vacations and how she feels like she doesn’t have a family anymore now that Meg’s gone. Mom says how she didn’t know Meg long but she’s so honored to have been part of her life. And she thanks her for her amazing granddaughter. Alan talks as if Meg’s there with us and tells her the entire plot of the most recent Korean import he saw. It’s what he doesn’t say that’s the most clear though—he misses talking to his best friend about random everyday stuff. Joni doesn’t say anything but places her hand on my arm to let me know she’s there, and that’s all I need.
When it’s my turn to talk, I pull the pink notebook— Ryden—out of my bag. Here’s what I figure: anything I say in my own words won’t do Meg justice, won’t even begin to articulate what she meant to me, what we went through together. Alan, Mabel, and Joni haven’t read the pink notebook yet. What better way to say good-bye than to read her last words aloud?
I take Hope out of Mabel’s arms and hitch her on my hip while I hold the notebook in my other hand and begin to read.
I take a deep breath. “Dear Ryden…”
• • •
The only thing left to do is let her ashes go. The six of us stare at the bag for a ridiculously long time, each waiting for someone else to make the first move. The candles have mostly flickered out, and it’s getting cold. Hope is fussing in my arms. She’s probably hungry. I smooth a hand over her hair. Time to get this show on the road.
They’re just ashes. It’s nothing to be afraid of. I pick up the bag and wordlessly walk to the waterline. I close my eyes, rest my head against Hope’s, breathing in the combination of her baby smell and the fresh lake air, and then look up at the sky. “We’ll miss you forever,” I whisper and open the bag, holding it out to the wind.
In less than a minute, all the ashes are gone, carried away on the breeze, on their way to becoming part of the sand or soil or a bird’s nest or the waves, working their way into the earth until they’re nothing but a memory.