“So, first stop, Nepal, right?”
“Yes!” Excitement soared through my limbs. “My first time there.”
“And after that?”
“Who knows?” For once, the thought of no fixed plan was exhilarating. “Wherever I feel like going next, I guess.”
Hugo tapped his thigh nervously. “But you’re definitely going to meet up with me in Corsica in three months, right?”
“I always keep my word.” And I was saving the best of my trip for last. In the pocket of my backpack was a small jar of Claudia’s ashes that Sebastian had given me. She’d accompany me on my global adventure before joining her beloved in the Mediterranean Sea.
“Great,” Hugo said, still tapping his thigh. “That’s great.” For some reason he was lacking his usual ease.
As we pulled up to the curb at JFK, anticipation bubbled in my veins. The passport in my hand felt like a skeleton key ready to escort me into myriad new experiences. And the camera on my shoulder was ready to document them. How could I have waited so long to feel this again?
Hugo set down my suitcase and pulled up the handle.
“Oh,” he said, flustered. “I can’t believe I almost forgot.” He reached into the back seat and retrieved a paper bag. “I got you something for your trip.”
The liberal use of sticky tape and asymmetrical folds of the wrapping paper tugged a familiar heartstring, as did the contents of the package: a leather-bound notebook featuring the word ADVENTURES written on the spine.
I welcomed the spring of tears in my eyes. I’d only ever mentioned the notebooks once to Hugo. This must be what Claudia was talking about—what it felt like to be really seen by someone.
“Thank you,” I said, stroking its smooth cover. “It’s perfect.”
“My pleasure.” He slid his hands in his pockets and looked down at his feet. “I’m really going to miss hanging out with you, Clover.”
Missed by two people. That felt almost unbelievable.
Flipping the notebook open, I saw a handwritten inscription flowing across the bottom of the first page.
Here’s to living a life with fewer regrets—Hugo
Amid the impatient honking, yelled farewells, and general chaos of the JFK departures drop-off, I heard a chorus of familiar voices urging me forward: Leo, Sylvie, Bessie, Grandpa, Claudia.
Be cautiously reckless.
The hummingbird’s wings fluttered beneath my ribs.
With a deep breath, I stood on tiptoes and put my hand to Hugo’s cheek, looking him confidently in the eye.
And my second first kiss was exactly what I imagined it would be.
Epilogue
The scent of sunbaked eucalyptus mingled with the salty breeze as I stood on the cliffs of Bonifacio, Corsica. The delicate stillness was far from the urban din I’d grown up with. Leaves brushed softly against one another as if in a loving caress. A bird called out to the vanishing sun, bidding it farewell for another day. The ripples of the Mediterranean washed gently onto the rocks, carrying with them the sparkle of dying sunlight.
In the air below the cliffs, two distinct clouds of ashes danced together before descending gracefully into the sea.
Claudia and her great love were reunited at last.
Beside me, Hugo squeezed my hand, the golden glow from the horizon reflected in the traces of tears on his face.
I squeezed back and watched as the last of the ashes disappeared into the water.
In the distance, a small sailboat eased its way out to sea. I imagined Claudia sitting on its bow, happy to finally be where she belonged. But while the vision was heartwarming, it also felt bittersweet.
If Claudia and Hugo had reunited, the Hugo next to me wouldn’t exist. I wouldn’t have spent the past three months traveling the world, documenting my adventures in my notebook that I couldn’t wait to share with him. And I wouldn’t be standing here on this French island, about to return home to New York to begin my photography studies.
Their fate had somehow determined mine.
People who were complete strangers to me less than a year ago had forever shifted the trajectory of my life. The fact that all of us were entangled—that everyone on the planet somehow shaped the course of one another’s lives, often without realizing it—felt like almost too much for me to comprehend.
But perhaps that’s the point. Do we actually need to understand the world and all its patterns?
You can find meaning in anything if you look hard enough; if you want to believe that everything happens for a reason. But if we completely understood one another, if every event made sense, none of us would ever learn or grow. Our days might be pleasant, but prosaic.
So maybe we just need to appreciate that many aspects of life—and the people we love—will always be a mystery. Because without mystery, there is no magic.
And instead of constantly asking ourselves the question of why we’re here, maybe we should be savoring a simpler truth:
We are here.
Acknowledgments
To the death doulas, hospice workers, nurses, doctors, home health aides, spiritual practitioners, and all those who refuse to look away from other people’s pain—thank you. You are some of the noblest among us, and yet so often don’t receive the support, recognition, and compensation you deserve. Thank you for all you do to make people’s final moments a little more bearable, and sometimes even beautiful.
What I love most about this book is that its pages hold the fingerprints of so many people who have so generously shared their wisdom, stories, expertise, and lessons with me over the years.
To Katie Mouallek, thank you for spending all of those early-pandemic Sundays with me, socially distanced in parks across New York City, envisioning Clover’s world and her journey. Thank you for sharing so much of yourself, and for reading so many versions of the story that you know it almost as intimately as I do. This book wouldn’t exist without you.
To Michelle Brower, thank you for plucking my manuscript out of the slush pile and for imagining what it had the potential to be—and taking a chance on that. You truly are a dream agent, advocate, provider of necessary truths, and the person I would always want in my corner. A huge thank you also to the wonderful Jemima Forrester for championing Clover throughout the Commonwealth.
To Sarah Cantin, Harriet Bourton, and Beverley Cousins, thank you for lending me your astute editorial brains and for your vision that challenged me to reach higher so that I ended up with a final manuscript that I truly love. You all made the editing process a pleasure and a masterclass.
Thank you Danya Kukafka for your expert notes, to Allison Malecha for finding Clover a global voice, and to Natalie Edwards and Khalid McCalla and the entire Trellis Literary Management team.
Thank you to the tireless and talented publishing folk who have helped bring the book into existence, especially Jennifer Enderlin, Lisa Senz, Anne Marie Tallberg, Jessica Zimmerman, Sallie Lotz, Drue VanDuker, Rivka Holler, Brant Janeway, Tom Thompson, Kim Ludlam, and everyone in the Creative Studio, Ken Silver, Gabriel Guma, Jonathan Bush, Alex Hoopes, and Kirsten Aldrich, at St. Martin’s Press; Lydia Fried, Georgia Taylor, Sam Fanaken and the UK sales team, and Linda Viberg and the international sales team at Penguin Viking UK; Dot Tonkin, Janine Brown, Jo Baker, and Deb McGowan at Penguin Australia; and everyone at Bertrand Editora, Cappelen Damm, China Translation & Publishing House, Dioptra, Droemer Knaur, ?ditions Eyrolles, Euromedia, Globo Livros, Influential Press, Lindhardt & Ringhof, Muza, Planeta México, Sperling & Kupfer, Vulkan, and Znanje.