Getting my shit together wasn’t as hard as I thought it was going to be.

Then again, I’d been working on the plan to buy Simon Warren for the past month. I hadn’t said anything to Makayla or Maggie in case the deal didn’t pan out. I didn’t want to raise their hopes about Katherine returning to California and then dash them. I had to do my research first. Keeping it quiet killed me, but letting them think I was still futzing around hadn’t seemed like a problem.

At the time.

In hindsight, it wasn’t the best plan. Makayla read all kinds of wrong things into it. I could have come clean that day in my kitchen, but she was right, I needed to figure my shit out.

Obviously, Makayla sensed my need to do something more and thought I was holding myself back, when really I was plunging forward. Looking into a company. Hoping to do something good, if my research proved it was the right move.

Turns out, the foundation of Simon Warren is solid. It has a huge customer base, it is bicoastal, and best of all it’s cheap. The owners are looking to get out while they are still above water.

It will be the first of many companies that I buy and put back together.

With some new branding and a possible play on their name, my projections say that in two years’ time Simon Warren will once again be turning a profit. Of course, it will require a lot of hard work and dedication. Good thing for me, Katherine has agreed to stay on and run retail operations. She’ll have to stay in New York for the short-term, but once the company is on its feet, she’ll be able to move back to California.

Yes, getting my shit together has kept me busy.

Before I left Laguna, I stopped by the lifeguard station and gave my notice. The captain let me go without any obligations and promised me a job should I decide to come back.

From New York, I managed to find the perfect California company to partner with Makayla. I contacted them, told them about her, and asked them to keep my name out of it if they decided to approach her. I wasn’t sure if she’d listen to them if she knew I’d been involved, even in this smallest of ways.

I also spoke with my father, and he told me that he and Vanessa were over. I told him I could never forgive what he did, but someday I might be able to forget it. Someday—but not any day soon.

As for Vanessa, I did call her and ask her to stop with the gifts, texts, and calls. To my surprise, she agreed to do so. Truth is, she doesn’t want to get back together with me, just as I never want to get back together with her. There is a reason she cheated—together we didn’t work. I think she was just looking to hold on to something that wasn’t there.

Putting my sister and mother in the same room proved very difficult, but I managed to do it. They talked—a little. All I can say is they are a work in progress, and I can live with that.

And then, of course, I purchased Simon Warren, with Katherine’s help.

Snap.

Snap.

Snap.

Giving my sister a show, I make a few faces that I know I’ll regret later when she posts my picture all over social media like she always does. When I stop and get serious, she lowers her camera with a sigh.

“I have to go,” I say.

“I’m going to miss you.” Amelia throws her arms around me. “It’s been really great having you around.”

I kiss her forehead. “I’ll be back before you know it, and you can visit me anytime.”

She and I talked about her job in detail during my trip home. According to her, she likes working for our father, and although she doesn’t love her job, she’s happy with it. After everything that happened with Brandon, I was skeptical at first, but staying with her, I almost believe it’s true. Almost.

Either way, she’s so much stronger than Brandon ever was, and I believe she will do what is best for her, when she’s ready. I did tell her I’m always there for her, should she decide she wants out. For now, though, I think she wants to give it a try and I have to let her.

I still haven’t told her what happened with Vanessa and my father, or about our father in general. I just couldn’t do that to her. Yes, she’s strong, but she’s fragile, too. She’s a daddy’s little girl, and maybe I just want her to have that.

And then of course, I told her all about Makayla and how much I love her. She can’t wait to meet her. That is, if Makayla takes me back. Of course, Amelia had all kinds of names to call me for being so dense and not making up with Makayla sooner, so I could bring her to the wedding, of which I convinced Amelia attend.

But I, too, am a work in progress.

I pull back and give her now more than faded turquoise strand of hair a tug. “I have to go, Amelia.”

She hugs me one last time. “Don’t forget to call me.”

With my backpack on my shoulder, I rush through security and get on the plane. Late again. It almost feels like déjà vu, minus the first class and minus Makayla.

The plane is full, and I have to shove my backpack under the seat in front of me. As I take my aisle seat, image after image, memory after memory, of the summer I shared with Makayla comes rushing back.

A smile tugs at my lips just thinking about her, and then that weight slams in my chest. All I can do is hope that what she said, she meant—when you figure it out, why don’t you come find me.

I’m ready, baby. I only hope you are.

I close my eyes and the moving plane lulls me to sleep. When I wake, the flight attendant is serving drinks and snacks. I’m so glad the flight attendant who was working when I met Makayla isn’t on board. I had to promise to take her to dinner to avoid going to the slammer. And then I gave her my number with one digit incorrectly written.

It was a shit thing to do, but reflecting back, I did it in the name of love.

Okay, done with the sappy shit, I promise.

Deciding to go over some of the divisional financials for Simon Warren, I yank my backpack out and set it on my lap.

As soon as I open it, a black photo album with silver lining pops out.

Uncertain, I pull it out. The note taped to the top reads, “This one is for you. Take care of it. With love, Amelia.”

Letting my backpack drop to the ground, I set the album on my lap and stare at it for the longest time.

“Sir, what can I get you?” the flight attendant asks.

My head snaps in her direction. “Nothing, thank you.”

When my gaze shifts back down to the photo album, the inscription gets me right in the chest. It reads, “The Adventures of the ABCs.”

I have to curl my hands into fists to stop them from shaking. All I can do is stare. Sweat coats my brow, I can feel my breathing increase exponentially, and I sit here, letting time pass.

Finally, I feel strong enough to open it. Slowly, I pinch the cover and even more slowly, I open it.

Staring right at me is an 8×10 color photo of Brandon and me in our “I’m a Big Brother” T-shirts, both holding Amelia in a bundle of pink. We’re smiling so wide. I wasn’t even two yet, so I don’t remember it, but I feel I could if I tried hard enough.

My vision starts to blur and I feel like the space in the plane has clouded over. It’s as if I’m the only one here.

A strange mix of hope and fear spurs me to turn the page.

There are two photos on the page to the left. The first is of the three of us the first time we all rode the subway together. I’m not sure how old we were, but Amelia was in a stroller. Excitement fills our faces because we were going on a train ride. I don’t remember that day, but I remember those matching cowboy hats and holsters Brandon and I wore. And Amelia’s pink hat and spurs. We thought we were outlaws from the West. And we were on the getaway train.

A smile tugs at my lips. We kept that cowboy gear for a long time. Amelia would sneak into our room in her pink hat and point her finger at us. “Put ’em up, or I’ll shoot,” she tried to say, but never got the words quite right.

The second photo on the page is of the three of us in our Easter outfits and we have the biggest frowns on our faces. I remember this day. Brandon was seven, I was six, and Amelia was four. Our parents had taken us to the country club for an Easter egg hunt and forgot our baskets. We were so mad at them because we had to use a plastic grocery bag. Made egg collecting very difficult.

Page by page, I find myself flipping. Smiling at the happy memories and knowing these are times that can never be forgotten.

Soon, though, I have to stop. I feel like I might suffocate. Like I can’t breathe. Jumping to my feet, I tuck the album away and head for the lavatory.

Once inside, I splash water on my face and then look in the mirror. Moments later, I find myself clawing at my T-shirt to get it off. As soon as I do, I stare at the scripted B on my chest and trace every delicate line of it.

When my finger returns to where it started, I look into the mirror. “I love you, Brandon,” I whisper.

I love you.

I miss you.

Now and forever.