One Last Thing ✅

thirty-nine things

After I've been discharged from the hospital, Grams and I climb into her car. I am silent as she pulls out of the parking lot. At the first stoplight, I expect her to turn toward our neighborhood, but instead she takes a right toward downtown.

"Where are we going?"

She glances at me, mouth twisted. "We have a meeting with Mr. Mason. I'm sorry, but it couldn't wait. It's about the arraignment next week."

My breath catches. I'd been feeling calm, like I could get through the rest of the day if I just took it one moment at a time, but now it feels like my lungs are being squashed. I force myself to breathe. "Oh."

"He tried to get an extension," Grams continues. "But the judge will be going on vacation in a few weeks."

It seems strange that the scheduling of the meeting that will determine the rest of my life hinges on a judge's trip to Jamaica or wherever, but I guess that's how life works. One person can be going through a hurricane while those around her continue to be worried about the usual stuff. I wonder how many times I've just passed somebody by, worrying about crap like a geometry quiz or whether I'd get home in time to watch Vampire Diaries, while they were drowning right in front of me. I guess it's hard to tell when people are having trouble because mostly they try to cover it up and pretend that they're not.

It'd be nice if people could have a sign that they could wear when life is especially shitty, saying something like, "Handle with care," or "Hugs needed today." I bet there's good money to be had in a business making those. Maybe I can get Riley to agree to start a business with me—after my trial is finished. Assuming I'm not in prison.

We pull into the parking lot of Coldstone. It seems like an odd choice for a meeting in October, but I'm not going to complain, because... duh, ice cream. Still, the place looks pretty empty. Maybe that's why Mr. Mason picked it.

He's sitting in a booth toward the back when we walk inside, licking an ice cream cone. The sight is pretty comical, actually, especially when he dribbles some a bit of pink onto his tie. He sees us and rises to come join us. "Come on," he says. "Whatever you want. My treat."

I look over the menu, and Birthday Cake Remix pops out at me. I remember Riley talking about her father wanting to take her to go get ice cream, how she was afraid he was going to tell her that he was divorcing her mom. I wonder whatever happened to that, and then I feel bad because I've been so caught up in my own drama that I've completely lost sight of what's going on in my best friend's life.

"What would you like?" the girl behind the counter asks.

"Uh, a small cup of Birthday Cake Remix," I tell her.

"My favorite," she says, flashing a smile, which I find myself returning. She looks at Grams. "What about you?"

"I'll just have a vanilla cone."

The girl quickly prepares our orders and then removes her plastic gloves before ringing us up on the cash register. Grams reaches for her purse, but Mr. Mason puts out a hand to stop her. "I've got this."

She tries to argue. "But you're already doing so much..."

"Relax," he says. "It's only a few bucks." As he pulls out the cash, I study him. He seems like he's about Grams's age. Good looking, with graying hair and a twinkle in his eye. No wedding ring. I turn back to the counter and take my cup of ice cream, hiding a half smile.

After Mr. Mason pays, we return to his booth, where his briefcase is leaning against the wall. Grams and I slide in across from him and wait for him to take the lead, each working on our ice cream.

"First of all, I'm sorry to hear about your... accident," Mr. Mason says. "Unfortunately, there's not much we can do about the date of the arraignment."

I nod and carve some of the sprinkles from the ice cream.

"Here's what I propose," he says, reaching into his briefcase and pulling out a stack of papers. "We should plead not guilty. The text you read from Jared makes things difficult, but I should be able to plead you down to involuntary manslaughter. And you're not yet eighteen, which makes it very unlikely that you'll get more than a fine and community service. Not to make any promises, but I honestly do not see you going to prison."

"Well, that's... good news, right?" Grams asks. Her uneaten ice cream has started dripping down the side of her cone. I take it out of her hand, grab a wad of napkins, and wrap them around the cone for her. "Thanks, Lil," she says, distractedly accepting it when I push it back into her hand.

Mr. Mason looks at us gravely. "I'll do the best I can."

My stomach flips as I consider the bowl of Birthday Cake Remix before me, feeling as though my appetite has been completely spoiled by words like plea not guilty and involuntary manslaughter. Will I ever be able to return here and not think about this excruciating moment? Maybe Riley was right about her father-daughter date. I should tell her to have him take her out for sushi or something instead. Something she'll be able to leave behind forever.