PS: I Hate You

by Lauren Connolly

He turned me into a combo deal? What am I, a side of French fries to Dominic’s burger?

“If you ever want to use your testicles for anything other than reminiscing about the good old days when they weren’t smashed by my fist, you will give me my envelope.”

Thanks for the years of therapy.” Oh my god. For a brief, shining moment of awe, I find a way to love my brother more than ever before. Of course Josh Sanderson would have the ghostly nerve to hold a grudge into the grave.

Every coast I’ve visited reminds me how small I am in the world, but also how lucky I am to take in a view that always inspires awe.

The ocean spreads far in front of me, darkening with the setting sun. A vast inky expanse I imagine myself slipping into. Is this what death feels like? I hope so. I hope Josh didn’t hurt at the end. Didn’t fear. I hope he saw it as his next adventure.

It makes sense that it is an ever-moving mass. My brother didn’t rest in life—why would he pause for even a moment after death?

Testing it as if I am assessing its safety, when really I am only trying to remember everything about this place. Using all of my senses to drill this memory into my mind so I will never forget where Josh is.

Then he asks the front desk worker for two rooms, and I realize we’re not at a roadside inn in some historical romance novel, so of course there’s going to be multiple rooms available.

Sometimes, it turns out, soulmates are meant to be friends.

I’m a sweatshirt slut. A hoodie whore.

Tula barely ever bothers with an umbrella, claiming they slow her down. I’ve only seen her use one on our bookstore outings, and that’s more about protecting the precious pages than staying dry herself.

Tula was the internet friend I met freshman year of college in an online fandom group for a fantasy romance series. She’s the one who waxed poetic about her university in Washington.

Everything seems like life or death when it comes out of her mouth, even if it’s something as simple as forgetting to water the plant in her office for a week.

I’m a cold-weather person. I want sweaters, hot drinks, and stormy skies that randomly expel torrential downpours that give me endless excuses for not leaving my home.

I have plenty of days. So many I would have been happy to divide them and give my brother a few. More than a few. If I could have given Josh half my remaining lifetime, I would have.

My grief is a drill, digging into my sensitive brain matter.

For the rest of my life, a piece of my brother will be on my wrist. Wherever I go, he’ll be there in this tiny way.

Brothers, always. -D D for “Dom.” Dom gave this watch to Josh. My brother gave it back in the end.

Can I hold this against Josh, when he didn’t even get to come here once? Am I complaining that I might have to scent this delicious lavender multiple times in my life?

What a perfect metaphor, because damn, does that love hurt right now, too.

I got so focused on always seeking out new experiences, I forgot how good a classic could be.

“When you helped me, I could breathe. When I could breathe, I could see you.”

I would say seventy-five percent of the information that she tells me in these meetings could have been written in a single email. “Fine.” Pamela sighs. “I guess I’ll send it to you in an email.” And my point is proven.

I like things. Cute, beautiful, cool things.

But I can’t defenestrate a man just because he’s annoying.

emerald green sweater Josh brought me back from Ireland.

Don’t base your self-worth in the same place you get a paycheck. And give yourself a goddamn day off when someone you love dies.”

loving him like I’d always wanted, a single day would have been a gift. And I got a year.”

he was figuring out how to fit two puzzle pieces together.”

“If I have one day left, or thousands, I want you to be in every one of them.”

“I’m not afraid of the days with you in them,” I whisper. “I’m afraid of the ones I might have without you.”