Free Finally, Forever by Katie Kacvinsky

that patch of hidden ice on the highway. I was mad that it was so sunny and beautiful out the day after she died. It’s crazy all the things you find to blame.”
    The rain grazes the window like sand. It’s so soft it’s no longer a storm, just the illusion of a storm. Thunder rumbles a lullaby in the distance.
    “I still miss her like crazy,” I say. “That feeling will never go away. But I don’t want it to. She deserves to have me miss her every day for the rest of my life.” 
    I look over at Dylan and I feel the medieval fortress crack and crumble. It’s a worthless pile of debris against her stare. I forgot how well she knows me, how her questions are like keys and she knows just the right ones to use to pick my locks. My feet start to relax, beginning at my toes and loosening up to my ankles. My knees turn outwards, closer to her. My back and shoulders finally sink against the contours of the mattress.
    “Thanks for asking about her. You’re the only one who does,” I say.
    “It’s not exactly an easy conversation,” Dylan points out.
    I shake my head. “People avoid it all the time, like they’re afraid I’m going to fall apart and start sobbing. But you were right when we first met, you called it. I needed to talk about Amanda.”
    A quiet minute rolls by. Dylan ’s looking up at the ceiling and she sighs.
    “I’m not tired,” she says and turns her head to look at me. Neither am I. Usually when we’re in bed together we’re naked and any talking we do consists of an afterglow sex recap or foreplay sex talk. This is new for us.
    “Tell me one random thing you did this year,” she says. I smile as an idea comes to mind.
    I look over at her. “I called the Human e Society last summer to check in on Boba.”
    Her eyebrows fly up when I mention the dog that we volunteered to take on walks the summer we met. “You did?”
    I nod. “I was going to offer to walk him when I was visiting my parents, if he was still around.” 
    “What did they say?” she asks, her voice rising, her eyes widening.
    “They said, ‘“Boba isn’t with us anymore.”’
    Dylan gasps and slaps a hand over her mouth. I pry it away and she squeezes my fingers.
    “No—” she says and I interrupt her before I see tears.
    “He got adopted,” I say and let her hand go.
    “He did?” Dylan exclaims and I nod.
    “An older couple adopted him. They wanted a very mellow dog,” I say.
    “Perfect,” she says.
    “They said Boba really perked up after we took him out. We gave him a second chance.”
    I can see her eyes widen in the darkness. “I can’t think of a more wonderful bedtime story,” Dylan says. “We need to do that again sometime,” she insists and I just look up at the ceiling. I don’t nod, but I don’t disagree.
    Dylan ’s quiet and her breathing turns long and repetitive and I know she faded off to sleep. And I’m still nowhere near it. I hear the wooden clock chime and remind me of quarter hours, half hours, full hours slipping by and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m wasting time, lying here. I listen to Dylan breathe between the claps of thunder. Visions of the last three years play in my head, and I’m remembering all the good times, all the reasons why I loved her, why I still love this girl. I want my brain to remember the times that she left me, the times she made me wait, made me doubt, broke my heart. But my mind refuses to acknowledge those memories.
    The clock’s ticking starts to sound angry. It’s an impatient tapping.
    I roll over onto my stomach and rest on my elbows so I can look out the window behind the headboard. I watch the way the early dawn slowly reveals things outside:  a roof on a shed, a white clothes line, a chicken coop, a white fence bordering a garden. I’ve gotten used to watching the sun rise and it’s becoming my favorite time of the day. There’s always a sense of starting over. Erasing mistakes. The air is at its calmest in the morning. It’s