The Ten Best Days of My Life Read Online Free PDF

every girl’s dream come true.”
    â€œI’m quite happy with it,” I tell him as he looks at my shoe closet.
    Then he turns around.
    â€œBut meeting you and living right next door, I hope that’s a part of the plan.”
    â€œHere’s hoping,” I tell him.
    â€œI’m still pissed off that I died so young,” Adam confides as I serve him the pot roast on my Kate Spade Pebble Point dinnerware.
    â€œI’m getting over it,” I tell him. “They make it really easy to accept,” I say, digging into the garlic potatoes (crisp on the outside and tender on the inside, just like I like ’em, of course).
    â€œI keep thinking about all the things I’ll miss out on,” he continues. “I never got married. I never had kids. I was about to leave my investment firm and go out on my own. I was excited about that. I could have retired in five years. Why was I so crazy about making money? At least my niece and nephew will have college paid for. Still, was that all there was?”
    â€œThat’s all there was,” I tell him. “It was life and it was all we knew. Me? I’m going to make the best of this. I don’t know why, but I’m okay with the whole ‘getting hit by a MINI Cooper ’ thing. I feel content. I guess I’m a little irked that I died so young, and, yes, I had plans, but now I feel like that’s over, you know, ‘such is life.’ If I compared life to what I have now, this house, that closet, seeing my grandparents again instead of having to work every day and slave and worry about my future, I’m okay with where I am now.”
    â€œYou have no regrets?” he asks.
    â€œSure I have regrets,” I tell him after thinking for a minute. “My father and I weren’t getting along for a few years. I wish that could have been straightened out. We were kind of on the way to fixing it when this happened. I don’t know. I feel like I never did anything to make him proud, and I wish that I had been able to do that, but what am I going to do now, sit and worry about it? There’s nothing I can do about it now,” I tell him as if I don’t care, but I really do.
    â€œSo you’ve reconciled with it?” he asks.
    â€œYes,” I lie, “I really have.”
    â€œI feel like I had more I wanted to do,” he tells me as he takes a sip of wine, “so much more I wanted to accomplish.”
    I have some more things I’d like to say to Adam at this point, but I don’t feel like starting some life-and-death debate. Yeah, sure, I had plans too, but when you’re faced with all the good stuff that heaven brings, between you and me, truthfully, and I’m being totally honest here, my sincere feeling is, get over it, life was really freaking hard. Here, you think “pot roast” and one is cooking in your oven. I don’t see what the problem is.
    â€œThe strangest thing about it is that I have this really calm feeling,” he says, “like none of that matters anymore, but I still keep trying to worry about my family and how sad they must feel.”
    â€œMe too!” I exclaim. “How much of a gyp is that?”
    â€œI know!” he says. “I feel like I should try to help them, but how do I do that?”
    â€œI’ve been thinking the same thing. I’m going to ask my grandmother about that tomorrow.”
    â€œYou’ll let me know,” he says, adding, “still, I really can’t complain. I’ve got a whole game room in my house, but the only game I want to play is Pac-Man.”
    â€œI was the greatest Pac-Man player of all time,” I tell him. I really was.
    â€œNo, I don’t think so. I was the number one high scorer at Frank’s Pizza in Greenwich for six months straight.”
    â€œUh, hello. You might not have seen the Pac-Man machine at Lenny’s Hot Dogs in Margate, New Jersey, in the summer