Dear Fitzy,

Today I’ve been gone 100 days.

Somehow it feels like a lifetime and an hour. More like a lifetime though. A lifetime of torture.

I’ve been thinking a lot about our lifetime. I tell Sarah about you—my best friend, the boy next door, the one I met in kindergarten who I never spent a day without unless under duress.

Or until he stopped looking for me.

I’m too hurt to be mad. In some ways, I get why your mom wants that. I think you’ll go far, far, and away from Manhasset one day. As far as you can go. Maybe California since I don’t think there are football teams in Alaska. Wherever you go, everyone will love you like I did because you’re just a really good person. You’re kind of impossible to hate, dammit. So even though I’m hurt, I don’t hate you. I never have and never will. If anything, I’m thankful you gave me something to hold onto when I’m here: memories.

Some people here are able to have pictures in their room of their families when they “level up.”

If I could have one, it would be of you. There’s a photo of us in my desk drawer from when we were little. It was the day of our first communion. I remember Honey finding it one day a few years ago and showing it to me. She said we looked like a little bride and groom.

I said we just looked like us.

I wish I could see a photo of you then and a photo of you now on my wall here. If I did, I imagine I’d cry and laugh. Because that’s what you’ve been for me, Fitzy—the highs, the lows, and everything in between. But that’s life I guess. It’s ups and downs and adventures.

I’m on this one without you, but I’m still so lucky we had them together. I hope you never forget me them.

Rebels Only.

Parker

Chapter 23

“You didn’t have to get us anything, Eleanor.”

“Don’t get too excited. It’s more of a regift.” Mom slides on her glasses and reaches into the small shopping bag she’s been carrying around while we walked around DC for the last hour and a half. “I’m gifting you back all your memories.”

Across from me, Parker takes the first picture from the stack of photos Mom placed on the table. Immediately, she brings her free hand up to her mouth, and I watch as the mood in her eyes shift.

“Isn’t that one wonderful?” Mom asks. “The two of you look like you’re about to get married. That was outside St. Joseph’s after your holy communion.”

Parker holds up the picture for me to see.

“Was this the last day you were taller than me?” I ask.