Page 19 of One Last Thing
‘Yeah, I know,’ I agree.
‘I’m so sorry, this is a lot for you to deal with. How are you feeling?’
I consider her question. ‘I’m freaking out, if I’m honest.’
‘I’m not surprised.’
‘Of all the things for him to pull, this is top-tier ridiculous. He sends me here withherwithout any warning, which is one thing. But then on top of that, I have to take his box of ashes with me on a bunch of activities! I mean, what the fuck?!’
‘That is . . . unusual.’
‘I can’t do this, I can’t.’ Resting my arm on the rail, I lean forward to press my forehead against it, shutting my eyes tightly. ‘But I also can’tnotdo this. God, I hate him right now. And I hate that he’s made me hate him. This is all too weird.’
Marisa sighs. ‘Maybe . . . maybe it’s not too weird.’
I lift my head, frowning as though she’s right here in front of me. ‘Huh?’
‘I think if you look at this from a different perspective—’ she stops, exhaling loudly and then continuing in a gentle voice‘—what if you see this as your dad wanting one last chance to visit his favourite places and do his favourite things with the people he loved the most in the world. Then, it’s kind of . . . lovely?’
I clench my jaw.
There’s a knock on my bedroom door.
‘I have to go. I think Mum is at the door,’ I tell her, defeated.
‘Okay, but call me if you need and if you want me to fly out there—’
‘Marisa, you have ababy. And a toddler!’ I point out as I head back into the room from the balcony. ‘I’m not going to ask you to abandon your family to fly out to me.’
‘You’re my family, too.’
In spite of everything, I smile. ‘Thanks, but I’ll be okay. I’ll message you later.’
We say goodbye and hang up. Steeling myself for my mother, I reluctantly open the door and find Nico standing on the other side of it. He straightens quickly.
‘Oh! Hi.’ I try to look breezy, flicking my hair over my shoulder even though none of it has fallen forward so I’m essentially just jolting my head weirdly. ‘Hey, Nico.’
‘I’m sorry for disturbing you. I wanted to check you’re okay.’
‘Yes, I’mfine,’ I say, making a face as though it’s weird that he would even ask that perfectly pleasant question. ‘I’m really fine.’
‘It must be difficult. Your father’s letter and your mum . . .’
‘This is very nice of you, Nico, thank you, but I am totally one hundred per cent absolutely fine,’ I say, even though no one who is fine would ever speak like this.
He doesn’t say anything in response, but he gives me a knowing smile.
‘Seriously, I’m fine,’ I repeat, confirming for both of us that I’m not. ‘I was freaking out a bit at first, because, you know, I wasn’t expecting these . . . complications, but now I’m good. I’m chill. I’m unflappable.’
Oh my god.
I don’t think I’ve ever been more ashamed of myself, and that includes the time I happened to stroll past TomCruise when he was filming in York and I was dressed as a pickled gherkin, and instead of simply walking by, I yelled, ‘I’m in a pickle!’ because I’d had three blue WKDs and a tequila shot.
That was bad.
That wasreallybad.
But this? I’munflappable? Jesus. This is ten times worse.
