Page 181 of A Dead Girl's Guide to Living
“I’m glad I did it. Seeing him today and talking… it felt like cutting off the knot and starting again, rather than spending the rest of our lives trying to untangle it. I feel like I can breathe.”
She smiled and gave my hand a squeeze, glancing into the car at the back of Liv’s pink hair.
“What you said to her was really nice, Ellis,” she said quietly. “About not being forgettable. I think it’s one of people’s biggest fears, even if they refuse to admit it.”
“It was true,” I said with a shrug, savoring the feeling of her hand in mine and the way she looked at me with those warm, inviting eyes. “You’re unforgettable too, you know. You made this whole trip feel a lot less like punishment.”
She gave me a wink and pressed a kiss to my cheek before tossing the keys into the air and catching them.
“I’ve had fun, Ellis Langley,” she said. “When in my life would I ever have gotten the chance to drive a vintage Mustang across the country? A few laminated binders and field meltdowns were a fair trade-off.”
I pushed her lightly, rolling my eyes. “It wasonefield meltdown.”
She caught my arm and tugged me into her, moving us so I was pressed between her and the trunk. I swallowed as she swept a lock of hair behind my ear, her eyes fixed on mine as she took my chin in her hand and leaned in. Her lips met mine in a soft kiss, saying everything she couldn’t put into words, and I melted into her, my hands resting at her waist as she kissed me deeply.
How could I have been so close to passing this up? That feeling of warmth and desire had become addictive whenever I was near her. What would have happened if I had kept my head buried in the sand and never met Dove?
Would I have ever feltthis?
My cheeks heated as her tongue traced along my lower lip. She hadn’t been pushy, hadn’t rushed me, and hadn’t been forceful about anything.
God, if that didn’t make me a thousand times more attracted to her.
She pulled back, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead before giving me a playful tap and handing me the keys with a wink.
“Let’s head back,” she said. “Time to see if Jedd’s close to being done.”
As I watched her dart around to the passenger side and slowly followed to the driver’s seat, I realized the wildest thing about today wasn’t the conversation with my brother, or soothing Liv’s fears, or the fact that in some fancy pool house in San Marino, a boy who loved Liv was building fireworks out of Margaret’s dust.
It was that all of it—every small and impossible moment—carried things I could feel deeply. That I wasn’t closed off to the pain, the joy, and the unbidden emotions I was learning to let in. It was all part of a life I wanted, and a life I was living.
I wasn’t pretending anymore.
DOVE
Tip #30: Death isn’t erasure. It’s a door painted in brighter colors than we’re used to.
Jedd had finished the fireworks just as we arrived back with our laundry. They sat on the table near the kitchen in a small box, waiting for us, and they were the first thing my eyes landed on when we walked through the door.
It was both jarring and a relief at once.
Now we were in his truck as it rumbled steadily along the highway, the trailer behind us heavy with the boat it carried. From the back seat, I watched the boat rock in its harness, steel glinting whenever sunlight broke through the clouded sky. Ellis sat close to my side, her thigh warm against mine, and on my other side rested the fireworks—the final vessel of Margaret, waiting for her send-off.
I stared at them in wonder, surprised at how small it felt. Margaret, of all people—who had been all sound and color, who filled every room she entered with her velvet laughter and commanding voice—was suddenly reduced to a few small tubes.
I brushed my thumb along the lip of the box. My throat ached, my chest felt heavy, and my eyes burned. She would burn bright one more time tonight.
And then she would be gone.
Up front, Liv had claimed the passenger seat, her black boots braced on the dash. Though Jedd couldn’t see her, he still smiled, his hair brushed and his face freshly shaved, his eyes fixed on the winding road ahead.
I sighed softly and let my head fall back, my mind catching on a memory with Margaret I allowed myself to slip into.
“Sit, Dove,” she murmured, patting the cushion beside her. “You’re wearing your storm face again. I don’t like it. Sit.”
I sank down beside her and crossed my arms tightly over my chest. “You’re just acting like this is nothing. Like—like they didn’t just sign you off.”
Margaret chuckled and poured tea from her brightly colored pot, her rings and bangles catching the dim light of her old chandelier. “Girly, no one signs me off but me.” She nudged a cup toward me. “Drink. The world doesn’t stop spinning just because my clock is running out.”
