I nod, closing the distance between us and grip his arms. “I’m sorry I showed up without any notice,” I whisper.
He dips his face down, and some of his hair falls into his eyes. “Don’t apologize, Rory. I’m glad you came,” he says. He wraps his arms around me, and I press my face into his chest, inhaling, comforted by his clean, crisp smell. It’s familiar—it’s Tristan.
“Stay here tonight,” he murmurs.
I peer up at him. “In your bed? With you?”
His lips twitch. “In my bed. With me.”
I nod. “Okay.”
He leans down and brushes his lips across my forehead, alleviating the pounding behind my eyes. I’m not sure when the dynamic between the two of us shifted so significantly, but it’s during moments like these that it’s clear that it has.
I slide my fingers along the fabric of his collar. “Thanks,” I murmur.
He nods. “Can I get you anything?”
“I’m okay.”
He grazes my cheek with the back of his hand before he walks away and takes off his dress pants, tossing them into a hamper. He takes his time undoing the buttons on his shirt before adding it to the laundry, and pulls on a pair of dark gray sweatpants.
I sit on the end of his bed, staring at my hands in my lap. “Skylar was nice to me.”
He chuckles. “You sound surprised.”
I lift my head to look at him. “Aren’t you?”
He tilts his head. “Maybe a little, but I think you’ve grown on her.”
I find myself hoping he’s right.
Tristan sits beside me and sighs. “‘I’m sorry’ isn’t sufficient for me to say to you, but nothing is right now. Adam was a kind young man who didn’t deserve to have his life cut short before he had a chance to live it. I know you’re in pain. I know you’re devastated—I can feel it. But try to remember, through all of the pain you feel, Adam is watching over you. He’s right there with you, always. He’s proud of his older sister, and he loves you. That love will last forever,” Tristan continues, “long after tonight and long after his memorial when you’ll say goodbye to him for the last time.”
My lower lip trembles as I nod. “Th-thank you,” I manage to say.
“Why don’t we get some sleep?”
“Okay,” I say, standing to walk around to the side of the bed and crawl under the covers. Tristan does the same on the other side.
We lie facing each other for a while before I slide over and wrap my arms around him. He circles an arm around me and runs his hand up and down my back.
“I don’t think I can do this,” I cry into his shirt.
He tips my chin up with his other hand. “It feels that way right now, but you’re the strongest person I know. This pain, this heartbreak, is the worst thing you’ve ever experienced in your life, but you will bear it, and it will make you stronger.”
I shake my head. “What if I don’t want to? What if I can’t?”
A hint of a smile touches his lips. “You underestimate your own strength, sweetheart. I thought you knew better than that.”
I cast my eyes downward, my damp lashes fanning my cheeks.
“Rory,” he murmurs. “You don’t need to be brave or strong right now. Just know that when all of this is over, and you have a minute to breathe and start to move on, you will do so with a grace that continues to captivate me every day. That’s who you are. You know that.”
Somewhere, deep down, a part of me that isn’t broken and grieving knows he’s right, even if I don’t believe it right now.
The day of Adam’s memorial, the sky is bright and clear—the first day without rain in a while.
Mom and Dad spend the morning locked in their bedroom, which leaves me to get ready in silence. I sit on the end of my bed in the plain, knee-length black dress I picked out last night. I drop my gaze to the notecards in my lap and sigh. I spent hours working out what I wanted to say about Adam, but right now nothing seems good enough. I stare at the words until they blur into black splotches on the cards, and then I tuck them into the pocket of my jacket.
There’s a soft knock at my door before Mom peeks her head in.
“Almost ready?” she asks. Her dress is similar to mine aside from the short sleeves on hers where mine is sleeveless. Her hair is up in a soft twist, and she applied a bit of makeup that she has already cried off. Her eyes are puffy and red. How else should she look?
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll be right down.”
She nods, a solemn expression on her pale, tear-stained face, and closes the door.
I take a shaky breath and let it out before I slip on black heels and shrug on my jacket.
I walk out of the room and pause at the closed door before the staircase. My hand reaches for the handle, but I stop myself, biting my lip. I shake my head and keep walking, meeting my parents downstairs in the front hallway.
“We can do this,” Dad says.
I nod. “We have to. For Adam.”
“For Adam,” he agrees, and Mom covers her mouth to muffle a sob.
We’re escorted into the back of a car, and I stare out the window the entire drive to the cemetery.
Adam would be happy. So many people sit in rows, facing where his silver-and-black urn sits on a podium. We sit in the front row with Mom’s parents and Dad’s mother, and behind us sit family members I don’t remember that well or have never met. Among the crowd are teachers from Adam’s school, some of his friends and their parents, and more faces I’m unfamiliar with. Allison and Oliver are two of the only ones I recognize, and they offer small, sad smiles when I see them.
The pastor talks about love, life, and loss, and a bit about Adam and his short life. Dad chokes back a sob beside me, and I reach over to grasp his hand. He looks over at me and smiles through the tears, squeezing back.
The time comes for me to speak, and I stand, giving my dad his hand back. I walk the short distance to the podium and pull out my notecards, the crowd silent as I prepare myself.
As the wind blows and the faint smell of the roses surrounds me, I close my eyes and inhale, letting the breath out a few seconds later. I lift the notecards and read the first line in my head before I stop and set them face down beside the urn.
“Adam was this incredible person that my parents brought into this world—into my life—and who I had the privilege of calling my brother. We all knew him differently. Some were friends, some were family, and if you were lucky enough, you were both.” I stop to take a breath, and my eyes connect with familiar stark blue ones in the crowd.
Tristan holds my watery gaze, his expression soft and solemn.
For the number of moments he’s made my head spin, his presence now is steadying. It’s exactly what I need to get through the rest of Adam’s eulogy.
I return to my chair and stand with my parents as the urn is placed into the ground. Mom, Dad, and I step forward and drop roses on top of the soil after it has filled the spot where Adam’s ashes now lie. I close my eyes as wetness trails down my cheeks, and my parents wrap me in a sob-filled hug while we all say goodbye to Adam one last time.