She elbowed me, grinning so wide I thought her face might crack.
Second flash.
"Try not to look like you're at a funeral."
I stared blankly at the lens.
Third flash.
"Ivan would've stuck a straw up your nose by now just to get a laugh."
That pulled the smallest twitch of my mouth.
Fourth flash. Done.
Erin whooped, grabbing the printout as it slid out. "Oh my god, we look horrible."
"Good."
She handed me one copy. "Keep it. For Ivan."
I hesitated. Then tucked it into my coat pocket, pressing it down like maybe if I buried it deep enough, it wouldn't split me in two.
Later
I drove her home myself.
Didn't say much on the way. My voice had settled into silence again. My head ached in that familiar way grief always delivered... like a hammer behind the eyes.
When we pulled up to her apartment, Erin paused before stepping out.
"I'm planning something," she said. "For Ivan. On the day."
I looked at her.
