Page 45 of Promise Me

“Yes.”

“You knew that, though.”

“No, I knew we fought a lot, and you always had to have the last word, but you like just talking in general. ”

“Or maybe I’m just trying to make up for lost time.”

“I’ll give you that.”

I have so many things I want to ask him, but I don’t. I’m not silent now because he said something about it; I’m just not sure what to say first.

What do we fight the most about? What’s it like being back? Did his girlfriend try to move here with him? Does he still skate? Why didn’t I open my own business?

There are more things I want to know, but those are at the top of the list.

The silence that settles between us isn’t weird. It feels natural, as if I’ve been hanging out with him my entire life. In a way, I have, but I’m starting to wonder if I missed out.

When we reach the end of the road, he slows, then picks some flowers from Mrs. Rogers's rosebushes.

“What are you doing?”

“We need flowers,” he says matter-of-factly.

“For what?”

He points ahead of us with the red roses in his hand. “Your mom.”

My gaze snaps to the cemetery. I hadn’t even noticed this was where we were walking.

Tears fill my eyes.

“In your mind, you were going to say goodbye to her today, so it makes sense that you come to see her and tell her everything you wanted to say back then.”

He hands me the flowers. “You buy much nicer ones, but you leave these from time to time from here.”

I swallow the lump in my throat.

“Hudson, this …”

“Fuck, I didn’t mean to make you cry. I just thought you might like to—shit, I don’t know.”

I let out what sounds like a laugh-cry mixture. “It’s perfect.”

I take the flowers from him, and he leads the way. He shows me which one is her stone, and then he takes a few steps back to give me privacy. He walks down another row. That one, I know, has his mom.

When he’s far enough away not to hear me, I squat in front of Mom's gravestone and lay the flowers down, swapping them with faded and dry ones.

I let myself cry for a moment. How do I do this? What do I say?

Hudson made it sound like I come here often. How often?

I clear my throat.

“I have so much I want to tell you,” I whisper. “But right now, even when I should be focusing on myself and trying to regain my memory, I can think of only one thing.”

I smile.

“You’d be so proud, Mom. I did it. I finally became friends with Hudson.”

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