The following night, Shawn got a text from Darla, but he couldn't bring himself to chase after Mitch again. Emily's celebration of life was in the morning. He wanted to focus on his speech, not babysit a grown man acting like a rebellious teenager.

In the morning, Mitch's truck wasn't in the driveway when Shawn and his mom went to the Foster's to help with preparations. Shawn's stomach shifted uneasily, and he pulled out his phone. When he called Mitch, he picked up on the third ring, words slurred.

"Come home, now," Shawn spoke firmly.

Mitch's voice was resigned when he answered, "okay."

Inside the house, Brian was consoling Darla, while Shawn's mom washed up to help put together the trays of meat, cheese, and dainties. Martin kept readjusting his tie and cursing under his breath as he looked at his watch.

"He's on his way," Shawn said quietly as he passed Martin.

"Damn well better be. He can't miss this too."

"He won't. Can I help with anything?"

"We had a few pictures printed. They're in her bedroom if you could load them in the car." When Shawn nodded, Martin thanked him and smiled.

The stairs seemed to multiply as Shawn climbed them to a room where he'd spent years of his childhood. Much like Em, her bedroom walls had changed to a darker colour with red-trim. Her stunning cartoon drawings hung on the wall and brightened the atmosphere. There was even one of him, Mitch and Em when they were teens. He wondered if the Fosters would let him make a copy.

The jar he'd given Emily sat on her nightstand with an envelope beside it that read 'Shawn'. Was it a letter from her or just a thank-you card she never finished writing? He opened the envelope and pulled out a card. It had a hand-drawn, black-and-white picture of both of them standing in front of a Thai temple with grins on their lips. Inside was a handwritten letter.

Hey Shawn,

Thank you for the kick-ass gift. Those Mon people are wicked talented. I wish I had more time to enjoy the art because you probably inspected hundreds of those pots before picking that one.

Shawn's hands shook and he brushed away a tear.

I know you think re-gifting is dorky, but hear me out. Of everyone I'm leaving behind, I'm most worried about you. I fear you'll spend your life looking backward. That's the kind of thinking that got me in trouble. I was afraid of a future without you and Mitch, where I couldn't rely on you two. But once I embraced it, the world was less overwhelming. Our situations aren't the same because I could reach out to you anytime, and you can't if you're reading this card, so I thought of something hella clever instead.

I've filled your jar with 101 notes of Emily's amazing wisdom. Hopefully, you're imagining my annoying, raspy voice as you read this and through the advice. Now you're stuck with me forever, or until you get sick of my beyond-the-grave meddling and burn the notes. Maybe they'll help you or they'll be complete gibberish. Pretending they matter to you is getting me through the fact that I'll miss the big moments of your life.

His chest grew heavy and he blocked out the hundreds of conversations they'd had about the future in this house.

So think of me, but also have amazing adventures because if watching over your loved ones in the afterlife is a thing, I expect you to blow me away. I've colour-coded the notes. Blue for days you're feeling down, green for celebrations, red for kick-ass suggestions about Thailand (I will not accept that you snooze in this town because of me), orange for major life events, purple for my insightful decision-making wisdom, and black for the shittiest days.

Love, 

Forever and always,

Em.

Shawn took the jar in his hands and lifted the lid. Sure enough, colourful slips of paper lined the inside like a rainbow fortune cookie. As he went to read one, footsteps and loud voices approached Emily's room. He tucked the card in his suit jacket and left the jar for later.

"Have you been drinking the night before your sister's funeral?" Martin asked.

"Isn't it a 'celebration of life'?" Mitch mocked in a tone that made Shawn cringe.

"Answer me!"

"Martin," Darla said.

"No, he will take responsibility for his actions. Were you out drinking?"

"No, I wasn't you fucking hypocrites."

A crash and a gasp followed. Shawn was about to run out when Mr. Foster's voice boomed.

"Get up, you lying, foul-mouthed, piece of shit. You're twenty-three for Christ's sake, not some teenaged punk! I can smell the booze on you."

"Martin, it's not his fault!"

"Like hell, it isn't. We are holding it together. He can't show up in time for the funeral, and we have to deal with this bullshit. Of course, he picked today of all days. Can't think of anyone but himself. Makes you wonder if God took the wrong one."

Shawn's legs trembled as he waited for Mitch's next response. Shawn had never seen Mr. Foster react this way. Emily had mentioned he was tough on her, but Martin had always been respectful to Shawn and Mitch. The man's answer never came. Once the footsteps retreated, Shawn stuck his head out. Mitch was sitting against the wall with his head in his hands. The stench of liquor, weed, and sweat radiated off him.

Shawn sat on the hardwood floor beside him. "You alright?"

"I shouldn't be here," Mitch muttered.

"It's your home. You should be here."

Mitch gave him a sidelong look then picked at the skin on his hands. His nails were worn to nubs and dried blood lined their edges.

"Why don't you take a shower, find a clean suit, and you'll be ready for the funeral."

"I don't deserve to go."

"You're her brother, of course you do."

"Her brother who wasn't there when she needed me the most." Tears flowed down his cheeks. "I felt it," he muttered.

"What?"

"When she died, I felt it, and it was fucking painful. She suffered through that without me."

Mitch had always had an extra sensitive brother's intuition with Emily, though he'd said it dulled when they moved away for college.

"That's rough." Mitch knocked his head against the wall and trembled, so Shawn added, "The doctors made her as comfortable as they could. She wasn't alone."

"Why did I wait? Why did I fucking wait?" Mitch dug his nails into his scalp until Shawn pulled them away.

"I want to show you something in Em's room."

As he looked toward the door, Mitch tensed. "I can't."

"Can I bring it out to you?"

Mitch stared at Shawn for a while then shrugged.

Shawn ran to grab the pot and set it between them.

Mitch furrowed his brow. "Where'd she get that?"

"I brought it back from Thailand, and somehow she filled it with notes she wrote to haunt us. You want to read one?"

Mitch studied the jar, but his hands remained in his lap.

Shawn dug around until he picked a black slip of paper with silver writing. He read it and chuckled, passing it to Mitch.

"Cheer up, you morose fool (yeah, my phone suggests synonyms and has spellcheck before you tease me). Giant raccoon vampires could be chasing you up an erupting volcano," Mitch read aloud and let out a dry laugh. "Jesus, all summer freshman year she was obsessed with drawing that vampire raccoon comic. Rabid Love or something."

"The illustrations were great, but the story." He loved her, but she'd ripped off just about every popular movie they loved.

Mitch smiled weakly and picked at his thumbnails.

"She'd want you there today."

The chattering of conversation from downstairs drifted up as their mothers conversed.

"I doubt that."

"You're focusing on one moment instead of your whole life together."

"We came into the world together, I should have been there when..." Mitch closed his eyes and bit his lip.

"Who says she's not still with us?" Shawn looked at the jar.

Mitch scowled and crumpled the paper between his fingers before dropping it on the carpet. "Those are worthless pieces of paper. She's gone." He stormed off to his bedroom and slammed the door.

Shawn picked up the discarded paper and smoothed it out. But wrinkles marred her writing. Tightness constricted his chest like a vine strangling another plant. She might be gone, but he wouldn't reject the pieces of herself that she'd left behind.