Page 48 of A Thousand Little Goodbyes

“Like you’d ever go anywhere as cool as a rodeo,” Scarlett muttered under her breath.

When Chrissie turned toward her with a puzzled look, she feared she’d been overheard. And when Chrissie forced a bright smile and said, “Well? Are you going to get dressed and eat your cinnamon rolls, or are you going to stand there like a block all day?” sheknewshe had.

Scarlett’s lower lip started to tremble. Shehatedthat her lower lip started to tremble. “She didn’t remember, Chrissie. She forgot my eighteenth birthday.”

In this, as in everything else, Chrissie refused to back down—or to acknowledge the truth of this situation: that life sucked and it wasn’t fair and they’d both been dealt equally crappy hands.

“Or maybe she’s planning you a killer surprise party for when you get back, and you’re ruining it by taking so long to get ready,” she said. Orlied, rather. In addition to the physical side effects of hergrandmother’s stroke, the mental ones had been chipping away at all three of them, one depressive episode at a time.

We often forget that a stroke is, at its core, a brain injury, the doctor had patiently explained to Scarlett and Chrissie when they’d voiced concerns—Scarlett sitting there picking at her nail polish; Chrissie with a notepad and a pen handy to jot down any notes or questions that arose.Some patients experience permanent personality changes, and the best we can do is get to know and love this new version of them.

“Chrissie, you don’t have to do this,” Scarlett began, but it was no use. Chrissie had already grabbed a pair of low-rise jeans and one of Scarlett’s favorite layering tanks from the ever-growing pile of unfolded laundry on her bed.

“Just get dressed and pretend to have a good time with Grimshaw, okay?” Chrissie said, showing exasperation for the first time since she’d waltzed into the apartment. “He drove all the way down from Seattle to take you out so I can throw a semblance of a surprise party together. I know it’s not Cabo, and that you don’t feel much like celebrating this year, but—”

Scarlett pounced on Chrissie before she could finish, wrapping her arms around her in a whole-body hug. Chrissie wasn’t a physically affectionate person as a general rule, but she always relaxed whenever Scarlett took her by surprise like this.

“You’re the best,” Scarlett said into Chrissie’s hair. It was in its longest phase right now, a week or two out from being cut and shipped off—a glorious waterfall of silk and strawberry-scented shampoo. “You always have been. I’m gonna spend all day making Grimshaw miserable. I hope you warned him, Chrissie. All I want for my birthday is to reduce him to sad, emo tears. I bet his eyeliner won’t even run.”

Chrissie laughed and planted a kiss on Scarlett. “It’s your day, Scarlett. Do whatever you want. Just be back here at five so we can eatbagel pizzas and pretend we’re on a beach in Mexico where we belong.”

* * *

If anyone had told Scarlett that she might not hate eight hours spent in the company of a guy who was majoring in comparative history of ideas (how was that even a real thing?) at the University of Washington, she’d have laughed them right out of the room.Andout of the arcade where they spent two hours in a cutthroat Ms. Pac-Man battle,andout of the frozen yogurt shop where Grimshaw had ironically insisted they eat lunch.

“Spill,” she said, pointing her plastic spoon at Grimshaw as they sat across from each other at a sticky booth in the corner. She’d purposefully loaded up as many brownie and cookie dough chunks as she could to rack up the price tag, but even that didn’t seem to have affected him. “What did Chrissie say to get you to be so nice to me?”

He touched an ironic hand to his heart, where the artfully faded image of Miles Davis was emblazoned across his T-shirt. “I’m hurt, Sanderson. What makes you think this wasn’t my idea?”

“Because you’re the most selfish person I’ve ever known,” she replied without any need to think about it. “Except for myself, of course.”

A lopsided grin touched the corners of his mouth in the manner of teenage heartthrobs everywhere. “Then what would Chrissie have to say to getyouto be nice tome?”

Scarlett didn’t have to think about this one, either.

“She wouldn’t have tosayanything. She’d just look at me with those big, soulful eyes, and I’d have no other choice. She sees the good in people even when it’s hidden under layers of bullshit—both mine and yours—and we’re powerless against it.”

“Then there you go.” His gaze caught hers in a wave of such understanding that it left her feeling breathless. “It seems you and Iwere meant to be. Now hurry up and eat. We’ve got a few more stops on our road to redemption.”

Scarlett wasn’t sure what she expected their next stop to be, but it definitely wasn’t a high school pickup line on the south side of Portland.

“No way.” She sat bolt upright in the passenger seat of Grimshaw’s ancient Honda Accord and watched as students poured out of the flat, sprawling building. “Is that Mitchell? Blue-vomit Mitchell? And is he cute now?”

“Grimmy Bear!” As soon as he spotted them, Mitchell loped across the parking lot, his long-legged stride making quick work of the pavement. “Mom said you’d be by to pick me up today, only I thought—” He stopped, his chiseled jaw dropping when he noticed Scarlett in the front seat. In the past six months, his jaw wasn’t the only thing that had gained definition. He was almost as tall as Grimshaw now, his body honed and lean in the way that always happened when teenage boys hit a major growth spurt. He’d never be as good-looking as his older, more deliberately disheveled cousin, but there was something about his wide-eyed earnestness that worked.

“Get in, loser,” she said, punctuating her statement with a smile so he knew she meant no harm. “It’s my birthday, and Grimshaw is in charge of keeping me entertained until my surprise party. Only he keeps quotingCatcher in the Ryeat me without any context, so I might not make it. If I hear ‘Life is a game, boy’ one more time, I’m tucking and rolling out of this car even if we’re on the freeway.”

Grimshaw laugh-grunted, a habit he must have picked up his first year at college. “You just quotedMean Girlswithout any context. How is that better?”

Scarlett laugh-grunted right back. “It’s not my fault you’re, like, in love with me or something.”

Mitchell piled into the back seat of the car. The door hadn’t evenclosed behind him before Grimshaw was flooring it, tearing away from the school at a pace Scarlett felt pretty sure would earn him a speeding ticket from the traffic camera posted at the corner.

Which, good. Even though she knew that Chrissie had given her the ultimate gift in lending Scarlett her boyfriend for the day, she still didn’t like the guy. Sure, he could be charming when he pulled out all the stops, and yeah, he was being way nicer than he’d ever been before, but he was still just a boy, when all was said and done.

He wasn’t a best friend. He wasn’t someone whomattered.

One of these days, Chrissie would be done with him, and then Scarlett could finally have her friend to herself again.