"Hey, Lottie—did you send that to the wrong person? Nobody in my family died…"
——
After Lucy's call ended, the screen went dark, and my own face stared back at me.
The awkward smile I'd worn while apologizing to her was still frozen there. It looked awful.
I opened my chat history with Eugene.
The last message was mine, sent at 4:12 a.m.:
*Where are you? I'm really worried.*
I scrolled up. Yesterday's messages.
I'd just walked in the door and snapped him a photo—Mom's plum-glazed ribs, the ones I always begged her for.
He'd sent back a sticker: *Looks so good I'm drooling.*
Below that, a video call from him. He was curled up on his couch, tilting the camera around lazily.
Mom called me away to help and I had to cut the call short.
After we hung up, he messaged me.
*I miss you.*
*This October I'll come back with you. Try those plum ribs you love. And tell your mom I want to marry you.*
Eight years ago today, he'd asked me to be with him.
He'd sworn that if he ever lied to me—ever, for the rest of his life—he deserved to walk out the door and get hit by a car.
Eugene was terrified of dying.