“I know. But you loved him.”
As I fight to keep the tears at bay, my mind pivots to our phone call at the party rental store. Pacing around the hot parking lot as Dad invited me to spend the summer with him and his pregnant girlfriend out of nowhere. I think about how mad I was that he didn’t show up to our party last night. How mad I was when I saw he wasn’t on the wedding seating chart. About all the times he wasn’t there when he should have been. And now I have nowhere to target that anger. Because Dad is dead.
So instead, I just sob. Uncontrollably.
Kassie kneels next to me, wrapping her arms around me tight. She doesn’t say anything. She just lets me cry. It’s like all the pent-up anger has boiled up inside me, and now it’s overflowing like lava, splattering in salty tears off my knees. And while I know my anger and disappointment are valid, those feelings now feel unfair. Unjust. I guess it’s hard to be mad at a dead guy.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, blowing my nose into a napkin. “I’m a total mess right now.”
“Oh my god. Don’t be sorry.”
“I know comforting some grieving rando on the sidewalk isn’t exactly how you saw your day going.”
“You’re not a rando, Char.” She leans forward and places her hand on my leg, which I can’t stop bouncing out of anxiety. Yet another thing about my thirty-year-old self that hasn’t changed. “I’m always here for you if you really need me. Okay?”
“Promise?”
She extends her pinkie, and for a fraction of a second, I see nine-year-old Kassie with a purple streak in her hair the summer we met. “Promise.”
Christopher “Chris” Wu passed away suddenly on March 19, 2036, at 56 years of age. He was a loving and devoted husband, father, son, coworker, and friend.
He was born to Michael and Lisa on September 20, 1979. After graduating college, Christopher chased his dreams by attending Columbia Business School, which paved the way for a successful career in finance.
Christopher leaves behind three children, Charlotte (29), Marianne (11), and Lily (8), and a loving wife, Alexandra.
I read Dad’s obituary at least fifty times on the train ride home, and spent the rest of the time stalking Alexandra’s social media. Sure enough, there are a few photos of Dad, Alexandra, and my sisters. They’re posing for a photo among fall foliage and they look like a quintessential family from a catalog. You’d never guess he had another daughter.
The older girl, Marianne, closely resembles Dad, while the younger one looks more like Alexandra. I keep scrolling through photos, expecting to feel anger and resentment toward them, but I don’t.
I conduct a quick scan of my older texts from Alexandra, stumbling upon one from six months ago.
Alexandra: Hi Charlotte. Sorry to bother you, but I wanted to let you know that I was going through your father’s old stuff and found a couple boxes I thought you might want. I know he’d want you to have them. You’re more than welcome to come by anytime to go through some of it. I know the girls would really like to see you.
I’m overwhelmed with the need to speak to her. I need to find out what happened—like, did Dad and I talk? Do I have any relationship with Alexandra or my sisters? But part of me is scared. Scared to see how perfect his new life was. And what if I don’t like the truth about our relationship?
The easy solution would be to ask Nori, the only person who won’t think I’m a lunatic. But I never confided in Nori about stuff with my dad before. It’s not that I don’t trust her, or that she’s not sympathetic. Quite the opposite. She’s one of the most trustworthy, empathetic humans on the planet. It’s the fact that her family is perfect. Her parents have a storybook romance; they met in Korea when her dad was on exchange.
Every time I’ve brought Dad up, she reacts with an idealistic sense of optimism. She’s convinced all I need to do is talk to him more. That I just need to tell him that missing my graduation hurt. She’s convinced that a dash of honesty will magically heal our relationship.
The only person who truly understood my brand of angst was Kassie. Yet another thing that’s changed.
As I watch the city skyline disappear, replaced with industrial warehouses and trees, I realize I still don’t know what actually happened between Kassie and me. Did we naturally drift apart like Nori said? Or did we have some sort of disagreement? Does it even matter at this point?
Truthfully, we’ve been at odds since we started high school. When she joined the cheer squad, I joined Model UN. Whenever I wanted to stay in with snacks and a movie, she was itching to party. I had to beg her to join student council with me freshman year. And sometimes I think she only stayed because she knew I wanted her to. Our love of scary movies was the only tangible we really had in common.
Still, I was drawn to Kassie’s energy, her light. She was vivacious, fun, spontaneous, everything I wasn’t, and still am not. I guess I’ve always wanted a piece of it, hoping her radiance would rub off on me. She also got me through some of the worst times of my life. Like my parents’ divorce. And the best. Maybe I needed Kassie. But if I’m being honest, I’m not sure I need her by the end of senior year. And maybe that’s why I didn’t notice her absence right away at Ollie’s party. Because I haven’t needed her for a long time.
I check my phone as the train nears Maplewood. Renner has texted a couple times.
Pain in my ass : Hey, you on the way back yet?
Pain in my ass : I had to leave for school without you. Let me know when you’re on your way.
Nori: Ollie is having a bonfire tonight. You and Renner should come after prom.
Biking in a dress and heels isn’t exactly ideal. I may or may not have inadvertently flashed my goods to an old man on a motorized scooter. But since Renner already left, I had little alternative.
I found an off-the-shoulder little black dress in the bowels of my closet. I texted a picture to Nori, who said I looked like a tired middle-aged woman on a once-a-month date with her husband to keep things “fresh.” Precisely the look I was going for. Very teacher appropriate. Besides, it was either this or my wedding dress—a simple, yet elegant lace A-line with a drop sleeve—still in a fancy plastic garment bag.
I contemplated ditching prom after finding out about Dad, but I couldn’t leave Renner in the lurch. And if anything can take my mind off devastating news, it’s prom.
The beat of a fast, bass-heavy song vibrates under my feet as I approach the gymnasium. A man in a navy suit is casually leaning on the doorframe, chatting up a table of formally dressed students taking tickets at the door. It stops me in my tracks. See, I have an Achilles’ heel. Guys who lean on things (preferably pensively, with muscly forearms exposed). I can’t exactly explain why, but there’s something about that pose that gives me the flutters.
This mystery man’s relaxed, überconfident stance reminds me of a dashingly handsome A-list celebrity on a red carpet. Who is this relaxed, confident man, and what is he doing in the likes of Maplewood? It’s only when he turns his head that I realize: it’s Renner.
He’s smiling that wide Mr. Congeniality grin that makes me want to scream into my pillow. He looks like the Bachelor in front of the mansion, eagerly awaiting a limo of women vying for his affection. This isn’t ninth grade Renner, who attempted to eat a Kinder chocolate egg whole like a pelican on a dare. Or the Renner who rode a bike off Ollie’s roof into the lake for a TikTok.
I curse the fact that Adult Renner looks this dapper in a suit. Either that, or I’ve caught some severe virus on the train and am venturing into delusion.
“Hey, beautiful,” he says smoothly, eyes literally sparkling. I’m waiting for him to laugh and yell, Just kidding! But he doesn’t.