PRESENT DAY
Today, I bring the roses on my own, and I set them against my mother’s tombstone, with the already wilting ones from the day before. With them, I leave a letter, and I step back to stand by Britt, lacing my fingers through hers and taking one last look at the sea beyond the gates of the cemetery, the true horizon of Sunset Cove, after which everyone’s favorite diner coined its name.
“We’re doing this,” I say to Britt, to myself, to my mother, to this town.
Britt’s the only one who responds, with a squeeze of my hand and a whisper that turns to a shout near the end. “We’re finally getting out of here.” She kisses my cheek, and I grin because the dream is in reach after all, and I’m reaching for it.
For someone who says so many goodbyes, though, the goodbyes this morning and this one now shouldn’t be so hard. My grandmas and I had our longest-running movie night yet after I submitted my list and loaded my bags, and I was exhausted by the time I finished hugging them and dragged my suitcase down the hall. I walked out the front door to air that smelled like possibility in some weird way.
Linnea gave me and Britt free coffee for our journey and hugged us both so tight I almost didn’t let her go. We had a last song at the karaoke machine—just Britt and I. Linnea made us promise to call, and then we left the Horizon for what might be the final time in who knows how long.
My father, Patrick Rose, called me this morning, whether that be coincidence or the fate my mother claimed had them meet in the first place. I said I might take him up on his offer to stop by his house on the coast one day, to say hi and maybe to yell at him in person before I let him hear a little bit of my story.
Edie was next, and I got to talk to her for a good fifteen minutes before Britt pulled me out the door and I kissed her outside Back to Me & You. We raced to her house where we had lunch with Amy, Sophie, and her parents before coming here to the cemetery for what might be my toughest goodbye of the day.
With the sea whistling behind me, I step forward, press my fingers to my lips. I touch them to her grave. “See you in the stars, Mom.”
Britt’s hand brushes my back and her eyes are gleaming. “Mia, we’re really doing this.”
“We’re doing this,” I echo her purposefully, and I’m every bit as sure. I wrap my arms around her to kiss her in this town one last time before the open road.
“Let’s go,” she says, nodding toward where the rest of Lost Girls waits at the gate—our band. It’s going to take some time proving I’ll show up, making it up to them before they fully forgive me, but I plan to keep earning my place every day.
I nod and glance at the note under the bundle of fresh flowers. Then I grab Britt’s hand, and she pulls me near, and together we race off into the last sunset of this summer and beyond.
Behind me, I leave the words—my story—for my mother in thanks for everything.
It all began the summer I was Mia Peters and I found the diary you left me. It began when I had unanswered questions and a heart scared to love and all the wrong melodies beating inside of me. It began the summer I first went with the music and the girl of my dreams, and I learned I wasn’t leaving them any time soon.
It all began when I followed your story to find my own.