epilogue.

"BLUE FLOWERS," THE florist said, smiling at Adelaide behind the counter. Her dark eyes crinkled at the corners. "Of course I have, I'll show you—"

"Teal blue." Adelaide looked around her, behind her, at the arrays of flowers. So many shades, like they were plucked off a rainbow. But they weren't Nate's favorite color. So useless. "Not just blue. There's a difference."

The florist stared for a moment but maintained the smile, which seemed sorta awkward. Adelaide figured her voice must've sounded a bit more . . . aggressive than she'd intended. So she looked away, and in that interval, the florist walked around the aisles, searching.

Adelaide did so as well. She meandered around the flower shop, tracing the edge of the display tables with her fingertip along the way. She couldn't see the florist anymore in her current position, but she heard a triumphant noise echo from somewhere across the shop. When she stretched she found the lady holding a bouquet of blue flowers.

". . . That's blue," Adelaide said. "I'm looking for teal. You just . . . Don't bother, it's alright. I'll search for ones myself."

With a sigh, the florist nodded and returned to the counter, mumbling something like: "Take your time, sweetheart." And Adelaide did, until she caught an array of blue flowers, varying shades, some dark and some light. So she went there.

The bouquet towards the center was teal blue. Adelaide smiled as soon as she spotted it and quickly grabbed it like she was scared someone would snatch it before her, but then her shoulders slouched. She touched a petal, a small delicate petal. That's my favorite color. Nate's voice rang in her head, and then her brain matched the sound to the image. To Nate sitting beside her, on the floor, holding a pallet she'd given him. Checking the colors and smiling and . . .

When the petal blurred in front of her, Adelaide realized she'd already teared up just remembering him. She turned. The florist was looking, probably wondering what in the world was going on with her.

"It's for my friend," Adelaide said, voice low and strained. She placed the bouquet on the countertop (which had a whole bunch of random stuff on it, including a plate of cookies) and reached for her wallet. "His favorite color's teal blue. He told me once. Or more like, he showed me the color. I told him it's called teal blue."

"That's nice. The one you picked is fake, by the way," the florist said. Adelaide nodded. "Ten dollars, please."

Adelaide took out some money and handed them over. "I love him a lot," she suddenly said, tapping the wooden counter anxiously. Through her lashes, she gave the florist a desperate look. As if begging her to be interested. "He used to smile when he's nervous. And he was very talkative. And he likes it when someone plays with his hair, it makes him fall asleep." Silence, during which Adelaide forced a loose red strand behind her ear. She perked up suddenly again. "Oh and he likes fiddling with stuff. Like, if he sees this counter right now, he'd probably mess with the pens or something."

"That's . . . That's nice, I guess," the florist awkwardly repeated while handing Adelaide the change. "I assume, long distance?"

"He's dead."

"Oh . . . Uh, I didn't— I mean, my condolences, darling." The florist suddenly froze and frowned. Calculating, maybe. Recollecting. "Wait, are you talking about Nathanial? Nathanial Romero, the boy who died last year."

The boy who died last year.

That was Nate's definition now. A corpse locked in a coffin underground. A victim, killed. Adelaide's throat suddenly felt tight, so tight, and she could barely splutter out, "Y-Yeah. Him."

"Oh, God." The florist shook her head in what was supposed to be a saddened way. "Poor boy. He was a sweetheart. Sometimes he used to pop in here just to say hi and eat some of my cookies."

"I can imagine him doing that."

"Yes. His death was such a shock," the florist continued. "No one believed it at first. The Romeros fell apart ever since."

Adelaide had been in the middle of nodding politely, starting to tilt her shoulder away, in the door's direction, when she froze again. Frowned too. "They fell apart?" she said.

"Oh, yeah, they did. When things settled, his parents divorced. Grace—his big sister—is lost between the two. She was such a lively young lady, just like her brother. But now the entire family's a mess."

Adelaide hadn't realized she was frowning until she saw her faint reflection in the vase atop the counter. Swallowing, she nodded and curtly mumbled, "That's terrible." Then she left.

Outside, the sun rays beat down against Adelaide's eyes. The weather was dumb and great. Ugly yellow flowers peeking through cracks in the pavement, wavering to the cool breeze. It ticked Adelaide off. The weather should be awful. The sky should be weeping. The world should be mourning Nate's death.

With a shaky exhale, Adelaide walked around the town, trying to remember the directions she'd asked a passerby for earlier. Thankfully (and surprisingly) she didn't mess up and found herself standing a few inches away from the entrance of the graveyard, and another few inches away from the start of the "rich" neighborhood. Also known as where Nate used to live.

There was a voice in her head telling her she'd struggle to find his grave. And she was worried about that, until the obvious came into view. Across the graveyard, towards the left, a couple people surrounded one grave, all dressed in black like charcoal fell on them. Three, including Christopher. And there was a dog too.

Now Adelaide wondered if she should have called them or something. She took a step forward, then a step back. Was it rude? To just walk in like that? She frowned, shaking her head. She was Nate's friend too—she didn't need their permission to visit his grave.

She hesitantly approached, and when she was close enough, her footsteps drew everyone's attention. They glanced back at her, all of them—not even one exception—teary-eyed. But surprisingly, no one spoke. No one made a comment. Reasonably, they should have recognized her. Both her and Nate's pictures were all over the news a year ago.

Adelaide hoped it didn't seem too awkward but she gave everyone an acknowledging nod. They nodded back. Christopher's eyes were glued to the grave. He looked the same. The exact same as when Nate was dying in his arms—exhausted eyes, grieving expression. Except he was dressed neatly now.

The headstone, Adelaide just now gave it a proper look. And seeing it, gazing at it, at the glaring truth, suddenly she joined everyone else with pooling eyes.

Nathanial Romero
2000-2018
The world ended for us with your death.
Rest in heaven, our beautiful boy. Rest among the stars. How lucky the angels are, now that you're theirs.

When Adelaide let out a choked cry, hand on her mouth, everyone else did as well. As if it was infectious, as if they read it again the moment she did. It all came back now. Nate dying in front of her, stomach punctured and bleeding. It made Adelaide cry harder. If time could go back she'd take the pain for him, she'd beg the world to let her die instead.

Adelaide forcefully cut her gaze off the grave, and she saw a boy standing across her. She couldn't recognize him. Beside him, there was a girl with blond hair and weeping brown eyes. A female version of Nate, except his eyes were hazel, light like the sun was always shining into them. Grace.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Adelaide doubted her words were clear enough with how hard her voice trembled, but Grace understood, and she nodded.

"Adelaide, right?" Grace said, as if making sure she wasn't tripping. Adelaide nodded too. Grace smiled, barely an upward twist of her mouth. Not that Adelaide blamed her, especially not when she was standing right by her brother's grave.

"I came here for Nate." Adelaide hoped it wasn't too obvious, how she was avoiding Christopher with her eyes. But she caught him through her peripheral and he wasn't paying her heed—still looking at his son's grave. Like that was the only thing in the world. Like that was the only thing that mattered. "I wanted to come earlier. It just wasn't working out. I tried to find the right time but it wasn't happening. And I hated that. I feel like . . . like I-I failed him, like I broke a promise."

Adelaide wasn't even looking at Grace anymore; now she was staring at the grave again, as if addressing Nathan. Kneeling down, she shoved a folded letter inside the bouquet then placed it by his grave. "Please, don't ever move the flowers. I can't always come."

"Of course," Grace said. "No one will touch that."

There was something about Grace's voice. Something unsure. When Adelaide glanced at her again while standing up, her hesitant expression matched the uncertainty. Even Grace's stance: slightly tilted forward, towards Adelaide, as if debating whether to approach.

"Come with me." Grace finally found the courage and held Adelaide's hand, urging her to follow. Startled, Adelaide moved an inch along but then steadied herself and stopped. "I wanna show you something."

"Show me what?"

"Trust me," Grace said, then she peeked at the grave again and whistled. "Max, come here, boy. Let's go home."

Adelaide opened her mouth to protest, but the dog's movement distracted her. Even Max (possibly an American Akita) looked miserable. Even his eyes were teary. Adelaide had never seen so much emotion in an animal. If someone had ever told a her a dog was crying, she'd sorta have snorted. Now that changed.

When Max was close to Grace, she petted his head and gestured Adelaide over. Giving in, Adelaide followed her towards the road again.

"Home," Adelaide repeated. "You . . . You told him that we're going to your . . . house?"

Grace nodded as she took a turn towards the mouth of a neighborhood lined by exquisite houses—or mansions, more like—at both edges. All of them centering high fences. Pretty . . . fancy. Maybe a bit unnecessarily extravagant. Adelaide would never waste her money like that.

"The boy," Adelaide said, "the one with black hair that was beside you. Who is he? Your brother or . . . ?"

"Nate's best friend. We don't have more siblings, it's just me and Nate."

"Oh . . . Oh, yeah. Makes sense." Adelaide frowned to herself. She'd completely forgotten the chance of Nate having friends with how he never spoke of anyone other than family.

The walk took a couple minutes. Adelaide watched Grace open a polished black gate just enough for her to fit in. Grace waved, gesturing her in. And Adelaide would respond fast if the house's ravishing exterior wasn't so pleasantly distracting, if its impeccable architecture didn't scream at her how broke she was.

Adelaide didn't want to seem desperate, so she quickly followed Grace inside, past a quartz fountain, and over garden pavers. When they stepped into the house Adelaide refused to stare around like a hobo anymore. Eyes downcast, she followed Grace up a flight of stairs.

"Nate's room," Grace said as she opened the door. Adelaide gasped but thankfully it wasn't audible. Nate's room. She should leave now, before she'd peek at his stuff and bawl her eyes out, before . . .

His bedroom seriously radiated his aura. Black and grey dominated but the place wasn't immaculate—messy. Chaotic even, like his energy.

"That's . . ." Adelaide took a step nearer. "Is that exactly how he . . ."

"That's exactly how he left it. We didn't tidy up anything."

Adelaide smiled bitterly, touching the headboard of his kingsized bed. Her laugh was a halfhearted sigh more than an actual laugh. "He wanted a waterbed," she said.

"He told you?"

Adelaide frowned. "Oh . . . That was a plan?"

"Well." Grace was bent in the corner beside Nathan's bed, reaching for something, and she spoke over her shoulder, "He told us he wanted one but Mom said no."

"Bet she regrets that now." Adelaide gasped when she realized she'd said that aloud. "I-I mean, I didn't mean that—"

"It's fine." Finally straightening again, this time with a small blue box in her hands, Grace's expression softened. She sighed. "We all regret ever saying no to him."

Grace rounded the bed back to Adelaide's side, and she opened the box's lid. Adelaide looked inside: pictures, a whole lot of them. Without even thinking, she sat at the edge of the bed and took the box, setting it on her lap.

Almost all the pictures were of Nate and his dad. Smiling, laughing, goofing around. At the beach or at home or at a bowling alley. The second majority was Nathan and Grace, and some with his best friend. Then there was one that had been . . . Adelaide frowned. It'd been cut. Only Nathan and Grace were left in the picture, but judging by the manicured hand on Nathan's shoulder, there'd been someone else.

"Hey," Adelaide said, showing Grace the cut picture. "Uh . . . What's up with this?"

"Oh, I cut out Nate's ex-girlfriend. I hate that bitch."

Adelaide tried to maintain a straight expression. "Oh, uh, yeah. I think Nate mentioned her once."

"Yeah. She used him for the money and she made him do stupid shit he didn't like. God, their relationship was so toxic. Thankfully Nate realized and left her. But ever since then, he hated love and relationships and shit. He says it's all 'stupid' and 'cliche' and stuff."

Adelaide nodded but her mind was somewhere else. Back when Nathan first read the script . . . now his reaction made a bit more sense.

"No pictures with your mom, huh," Adelaide said, giving Grace a side-look. "Nate and her."

"Yeah." Grace sighed. "Nate loved her, he really did, but he loves Dad way more. It's just that she bossed him around a bit, kinda like: Nate, do this, Nate, do that. He hated that. Dad's harsh with him too sometimes, but he does it right."

"Oh." After putting the pictures back in the box, Adelaide set the lid back on and stood, handing it to Grace. She wandered towards the large window; right under it, there was a desk strewn with papers and pens and a laptop and . . . a Newton's cradle? What in the world?

Adelaide poked one of the balls and watched the rest bump into each other. "Uh . . . Why does Nate have this?"

"Physics is his favorite subject. He loves it."

". . . You're kidding."

"No, I'm not. But he doesn't really like admitting it."

Adelaide just nodded. If anything, she thought he'd be inclined towards biology with how he loved animals, which he'd made clear. But no . . . Physics. She would've never guessed, but it made her smile.

To the left, Adelaide noticed a door. She took a step towards it and peeked in. A bathroom. Quite a big one, too. With one of these cool oval-shaped shiny bathtubs and a shower and gosh . . . They were rich, for real. Suddenly, she realized that maybe the bathroom was spacious for Nate's claustrophobia.

"Thanks," Adelaide said, turning to Grace. "For showing me this." It was an odd thing. Why would looking at Nate's room and belongings even bring some sort of comfort? It should've made her feel worse like she'd assumed. But it didn't. If anything, it made her feel closer to him.

Grace smiled a little. The tears in her eyes jerked the ones in Adelaide's, and suddenly both were crying silently like idiots.

"I need to go now," Adelaide quickly said, awkwardly fixing her ponytail even though it didn't need to be fixed. She smiled at Grace but her lips quivered. "Y-You're lucky to be his sister. He loved you so much, I'm sure you know. He used to say your name in his sleep."

Grace's eyes glistened as she smiled again but this time it looked both sadder and more genuine. "I've always wanted to ask you . . . How was he? I know what happened, but I never got the details. Was the room too small for him? Because he's claustrophobic and he hates small spaces. I have so many questions but I also don't wanna, you know, pressure you or something."

Adelaide was silent for a second. The desperate concern in Grace's voice killed her. Surely telling her about Nate's panic attack wouldn't be a good idea. "He was great, as a person. He talked a lot, like we weren't even kidnapped; he told me it's his coping mechanism. It's just that gradually, he was getting s-so exhausted. That was the worst part, seeing him lose his energy a-and at one point he needed me to help him get dressed . . ." All the memories rushed in again. Screaming, skin peeling. Exhaustion in his hazel eyes. Bruises and cuts on his body. Cleaning them every time, worrying sick about his deteriorating health. Adelaide shook her head—she couldn't do this, couldn't talk about it. "I-I'm sorry, I can't talk about this. I need to go. I'm sorry."

"Oh, no, it's fine. It's traumatizing for you too," Grace said, sounding sorta panicked. She touched Adelaide's arm. "I shouldn't have asked you, I don't know what I was thinking—"

Adelaide cut Grace off with a brief hug. She understood her, her need to know how Nate spent his last days. The last memories of him. As soon as they pulled apart, they smiled at each other but their hearts were burning. Adelaide adjusted her crossbody purse then quickly left the room, petting Max on the way out even though she'd never liked dogs.

Mind racing, Adelaide maneuvered her way outside the house but she almost knocked into couches and coffee tables twice on the way. She didn't even realize Grace had politely accompanied her to the front-doors until she turned to close them behind her but found her there.

"Bye," Adelaide mumbled, then bounded down the stair-steps of the porch and hastened across the garden. Dumb stair-steps reminded her of the stage and now her heart was beating fast. And as if things couldn't have gotten worse, the moment she squeezed herself out of the gates, she found Christopher in front of her.

He made her gasp and stumble a step back, hitting her head against the gate. While she recovered, she noticed Christopher give her space, as if trying not to make her uncomfortable.

Adelaide peeked at him through her lashes then quickly averted her gaze and continued her way. Then she stopped, hesitantly turning back. In her head she compared him to the man in the pictures with Nate, to Dolion, to the man who left her mom. But now he wasn't any of that—he was Christopher, whose past mistake caught up with him almost decades later. He was the man who lost a son. He was walking with his chest ripped open and his heart bleeding out, just like the rest of them.

Maybe that was why Adelaide said, "I can't imagine your grief. I can't imagine how you can still live with yourself."

Christopher looked at her with sunken eyes and she saw the death in them. He sighed, just a little trembling push of air but so much tragedy behind it. "I know I fucked up. I know I made a huge mistake and I know you'll never forgive me. And I won't ever forgive myself." Hand gripping the gate, intending to open it, but suddenly it slipped again. "When I came back, back then, I was paranoid. I felt like the world ended. I regretted it so much. So I confessed. I told a priest and repented but the guilt never went away. For two years, I lived feeling like my mistake will haunt me forever. But then Nate came, and suddenly everything was better."

His voice cracked a little and he couldn't look Adelaide in the eye anymore. Maybe it was mentioning Nate, or maybe it was the sight of a crippling man, but suddenly Adelaide felt her chest constrict.

"Nate," Adelaide said. "What was he to you?"

"Everything. The world. He was my son, Adelaide. My boy, my little boy. Do you know what I'd do to go back in time and save him? I'd take all the pain for him. Every single bruise and cut, every little bit of pain. I always told myself I'd burn the world if someone ever touches him, and now he's dead. God, my boy's dead. And there's nothing I can do and it kills me day and night."

It was this correlation Adelaide made in her head, this comparison between this grieving man and her own mom, that made her heart bend and break.

"See," Adelaide said, gesturing at Christopher while desperately swallowing back the sobs in her throat. "This is the difference."

Christopher frowned. "The difference?"

"The difference between you and my mom." Adelaide remembered back when she and Nate had concluded the truth. How she'd tried to defend her mom and he'd tried to deny. And maybe that was the problem, the bias. The inability to declare a loved one wrongful. That was what made the Director the psycho he was. "You'd choose Nate over the world. You'd choose him over everyone and everything. You'd take pain for him. But it's not the same with my mom, is it? She . . . She chose you. She chose you over me. She knew she was gonna leave me an orphan but still, she did it. And I don't think I can forgive her for that."

Adelaide seriously wished she could stop crying for one goddamn second. "Nate loved you," she continued. "And he didn't love you for nothing. He didn't fly to France even though he hates planes for nothing. You were a great father to him, and I respect that, alright? I might hate you for eternity but I respect how well you treated him. I respect how much you love him."

"Adelaide." Christopher still couldn't even look at Adelaide. Like it was painful, the words. "Please—"

"Listen. When I was still there, all I was trying to do is blame you. I wanted to believe it's all your fault. That my mom wouldn't have chosen to die if she hadn't met you. And . . . This mindset, it's dumb. It's the same mindset that made that psychopath—" Adelaide paused a for a quick breath because at this rate oxygen wasn't even going in. "It made him kill Nate. It made him torture him to torture you because for him, my mom did nothing wrong. But she did. And now I accept that. I accept that both of you messed up. And if we keep on wanting to make each other pay, it never ends. It would be an endless cycle of innocent people dying and suffering. You made a mistake but what did Nate do to die? What did Grace do to lose a brother? What did . . . that boy do to lose a best friend? What did their mom do to lose a son? It's impossible. It makes justice unfair."

When she stopped talking, Christopher was looking her in the eye through the blur of his tears but he didn't open his mouth. Speechless or startled, Adelaide didn't care. He looked like he wanted to hug her but he also didn't want to, like he wanted to speak but also didn't want to, and the awkwardness rocketed, so Adelaide quickly flicked her wrist.

"You don't have to say anything," she said, roughly wiping her tears off. "I'm just- I'm just gonna go back to Nate's grave now. I wanna spend time with him, I wanna make it up for how late I am to visit him. He's all that matters now."

She left Christopher standing there and hurried to Nate's grave. On her way, all she could see was his face and all she could hear was his voice. Like there was nothing and no one in the world other than him. She remembered every time they smiled together despite their situation, every time they pretended nothing was wrong. Maybe that was what made Nate so unforgettable, what made him impact her so much in such a short span of time. And mostly, she remembered every word he said. All etched in her head and imprinted in her veins. He'd been right, so goddamn right; sometimes, justice was just impossible.

_________

a/n: thoughts on the entire book?❤️