The-Lucky-List-Rachael-Lippincott

Was this hers? Did she wear this?
I can’t even tell. I can’t even remember. And just like that, my worst fears have come true. List or no
list, I feel her slip away from me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, my chest heaving as a hopeless feeling settles into my bones, aching and
staggering and disorienting.
Weakly, I stumble out the front door, a sob escaping my lips as I clutch at the metal railing, making
my way down the stairs. Looking up, my eyes find my dad’s. He’s standing in the parking lot, confusion
painted across his face.
The second I see him, the wave of anger resurfaces, the pressure of it making my head pound.
“Emily,” he says, stepping toward me.
“How could you?” I shout at him, pushing at his arms as they try to hold me, thrashing out of his
grip. “How could you do that? Why are you so obsessed with some fresh start? How could you be fine
with throwing out your old life and just forgetting her?”
“Em, they’re just things. I’m not—”
“ey’re not just things!” I shout. I cough as I gasp for breath, tears streaming down my face.
“They’re parts of her!”
He grabs ahold of me, and this time I collapse into his arms, my body giving way. He holds me tight
as I cry, my tears staining his shirt, my stomach aching as I bawl.
“You’re a part of her, Emily. I’m a part of her. Not any of that stu,” he whispers. “I could never
forget her. Ever. I’m close to her every minute I’m with you. And I want a new start because I know
your mom wanted that for you. For both of us.”
I think about the past three years and how frozen I’ve been. Never taking chances. Never trying my
luck. Always afraid of the worst-case scenarios. Almost like I could have stopped it from happening,
like I could have stopped her from getting sick, if I had just stayed home.
e list started that way too. I thought I knew where it was leading me, back to the person I was
before it all. Back to her.
But then… I think of Blake holding out the yearbook to me, the list falling from it. Her smile in the
kitchen when she suested I actually do it. How she was with me every step of the way, her face
stitched into every memory, the list pressing play on my life, which has been paused for so long.
And then it hits me.
The list wasn’t leading me to Mom. It wasn’t leading me to Matt.
It was leading me forward. It was leading me to her.
I can’t keep Mom here with clothes and secrets and things I never got to say. If she’s really with me,
like I felt all summer long, then I have to trust that she knows. at she can hear my feelings now.
That she’d understand even if she can’t tell me.
e sky darkens around us as my tears finally dry out. My chest is hiccuping as it slowly stops. I
sni and my dad tightens his grip on me, holding me close, not running away to work or hiding behind
pancakes, a barrier between us broken.
“I’ve got you, Em,” he says. “I’ve always got you.”