Dear Jen

1.

Dear Jen,
                 I'm going to kill you!!!

I mean, obviously I can't. You're already dead. But the sentiment remains. You see, I've just received your bucket list and I must say, I'm not at all impressed by your originality.

Girl, 21, dies of cancer and leaves best friend a list of ten things to complete before the summer is up. How very cliché. And I particularly like how you executed this entire thing as though I don't already have enough going on. Season 5 of Riverdale isn't going to watch itself, Jen!!!

Have you no consideration for the living?

Clearly not because if you did, you wouldn't have included Harry in your plans. (Thanks for that, BTW). I could just about manage his arrogant personality when you guys dated, but now you expect me to travel Europe with him? WITH HARRY? We're talking about the same guy who gave me a wedgie in third grade. And before you send your ghost-ass self down here to lecture me, I'm NEVER going to get over it.

Honestly, Jen, what were you thinking?

"Check-in opens in twenty minutes."

That's him. God—even his voice annoys me.

"It's not too late to back out," I reply. "You could always leave the bucket list with me."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" YES—very much so. "Sorry, Anna, you're stuck with me."

Great!

Do you see what you've done, Jen?

Not to be dramatic or anything, but you're kinda ruining my life.

The first-class VIP lounge is a nice touch, though—I'll give you that. Was it intended to soften the blow? Because if so, it's working. Don't get me wrong, I still hate you. But the complimentary champagne is helping. It almost makes up for Harry's stupid face. ALMOST!

"Have you been to Europe before?" he asks.

Fantastic—he's making small talk.

"No. You?"

"Once. I visited France when I was twelve."

I honestly don't know what to say back to that.

"Cool."

He sighs, rejecting a glass of champagne offered to him.

Jen, seriously, what am I doing here? With Harry, of all people? Sure, he's good-looking if you can see past the bullshit. He has nice hair—I'll say that much. But everything else gets overshadowed by my hatred for him. And I know you think it's all down to that wedgie fiasco back in the day, but it's not. It's so much more than that. There're things you don't know. Things I only have the confidence to write because I know you'll never read this letter.

"D'ya think she's laughing at us?" he asks.

"Who?"

"Jen. She always wanted us to be friends."

That's true—you did.

"No. I think Jen's gone. That whole 'watching over us' thing is a load of—"

"Sorry. I forgot you're a cynic," he interrupts.

Ohhhhh—he's pissed.

"Some people take comfort from thinking their loved ones are still close by."

"So?"

"So," he insists. "Maybe don't mock my way of coping. Or anyone's, for that matter. Who gives you the right to do that?"

I ignore him. It's what you'd want me to do, Jen. You always said it was best to walk away from a fight. Well, this is me walking away.

Are you proud?

God—I wish you were here. I miss your laugh. Your presence. You always did make awkward situations better. Your bright smile had the potential to do anything. And I know I shouldn't think this, but I almost wish it was me who died. In fact, I do wish that. You were all I had. I don't have friends. I don't have a family. And now you're gone.

I haven't forgiven you for that. For leaving me. It might surprise you, but I'm actually furious at you still. I wasn't ready to say goodbye. I wasn't ready to be alone.

"Are you okay?"

God—why is Harry still talking?

"You're crying," he informs.

I've only ever been embarrassed twice in my life. Once, when I slipped on some mud right before prom (do you remember that?) and now. I never want to be seen as fragile. I'm Anna freaking Gilmore. Tough cookie. I never cry in public.

"I'm sorry," he begins. "I didn't mean to yell at you."

I don't bother correcting him.

"Would it help if I go sit somewhere else?" he asks.

What do I say, Jen?

"No."

Never mind, I answered for us.

"Okay."

I don't know why I'm telling you all this. I suppose it's a form of therapy. A way to unleash my feelings without punching something (or someone). You'll never read my letters. You'll never know just how much I despise life without you. And to be honest, I'm glad.

I have no direction in life. No aspirations. I thought about becoming a model but realised I don't have the bone structure for it. Nor the patience. I considered training to be a nurse but was told I don't have enough compassion (can you believe it?) I guess I'll go along with your bucket list and figure out my next steps when the times comes. Who knows? Perhaps Harry will murder me in my sleep and I'll come join you wherever you are.

Imagine that?

"Flight 207 to Rome is now ready for check-in."

"That's us," offers Harry.

I guess so.

I quickly shove my long, dark hair into a messy bun, preparing myself for the thirteen hour flight ahead.

I don't suppose you gave Harry and me separate seats?

Of course not. That's not your style, is it, Jen? I imagine when you planned all this; you were hoping Harry and I would be best friends by now. Bonding over our mutual loss. Well, news flash! We still hate each other. And I'm sorry to be the one who has to tell you this, but I don't think an all expenses paid for trip around Europe is going to change that. Still, I'll endure it for you.

I'd do anything for you, Jen.

Including travelling half-way around the world with a guy I'm secretly in love with.

Lots of love,
Anna x0

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