Page 163 of From Now On

And I’m finished accepting his excuses.

“They set the graduation date two years ago. And plenty of parents who aren’t self-employed are here.”

My dad sighs. “Eve, I know?—”

“No, youdon’tknow. You don’t know anything about me, because when we talk it’s about sports and then I ask about your other kids. And you know what? That’s fine. That’s all you could offer.” I suck in a deep breath, forcing my burning eyes to remain wide open and straight ahead. “I called to tell you I’m mad. I was mad when you told me you weren’t coming tomorrow, and I was too…whatever to tell you. I was mad when you never showed up for birthday parties or my eighth-grade graduation or any of my art shows, and I always pretended I didn’t care. I’ve always been mad, and you were never there for me to be mad at. So I’m calling to tell you to stop calling. I’m done with the charade ofpretending I have a dad. You never wanted me. Congratulations, Dean. You have one less responsibility, and only two kids.”

For the first time ever, I hang up on my father.

And then I stand on the sidewalk, breathing heavily, simultaneously proud and sad. I needed to say all of that. But now that I have, I can’t take any of it back. And if my dad listens, and never calls me again, that could have been the last time I heard my father’s voice. That doesn’t feel like a success.

I pull in a deep inhale, let it out, and then head back inside.

“Everything okay?” my mom asks as I sit down.

“Yeah,” I reply. “I just… I needed to take care of something.”

Maybe one day, I’ll tell her what I just told my dad. But I don’t want to bring him up now. This weekend isn’t just a celebration of me. It’s a testament to all the opportunities my mom gave me, all the obstacles she overcame. Not only did my father choose not to come, he chose not to contribute. Pretending he doesn’t exist, same as he did to us, feels appropriate.

My pasta and my mom’s pizza arrive a few minutes later. I can’t recall the last time my mom and I ate dinner alone, just the two of us. It had to be well before I left for college. Before she met John or had Jenny.

As we eat, she tells me funny stories about clients at the salon. I try to talk her into listening toC is for Crime. The final episode is releasing on Friday, so she won’t have to wait for the big reveal the way Hunter and I have all week.

After my mom pays the bill, she pulls a pink envelope out of her purse and sets it on the table. “I wasn’t sure when to give this to you. It’s from your dad.”

I still. “What?”

“He came to the salon last week.” My mom purses her lips. “It wasn’t the most…pleasant of conversations, but it was a necessary one. Long overdue, probably. I know—I know I’vealways discouraged you from having a relationship with your dad. Most of it was to protect you from disappointment. But part of it was to punish him, and that…” She sighs. “I’m sorry about that.”

I stare at the envelope like it’s a live bomb that might explode.

“I think he wanted to be here, Eve. But…I don’t think he knows how to be. And that’s up to you, whether or not you want to teach him. How many chances you’re willing to offer. Only you can decide that, and I’ll support whatever you decide. I promise.”

Curiosity flares as I reach for the envelope hesitantly.

My dad has never sent me a card before. I don’t even know what his handwriting looks like.

The first page I pull out of the envelope is a folded drawing. Two tiny people and one person four times their height. The two shorter stick figures are labeledNoahandLily. The tall one isEve.

I set down the drawing and pull the card out.

When I open it, a check slides into my lap. A check for a lot of money, with my dad’s name in the top left corner. The note on the inside of the card covers both sides, written in a slanted scrawl.

Eve,

On Saturday, you’ll be a college graduate. You’re 22, about to head out into the world, and I won’t be there to see it.

I’m sorry. I know those are just words, and I know they change nothing.

I’m sorry I missed so much. I’m sorry that I was so selfish. I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to say I’m sorry.

When we first started our calls, I thought it was better to pretend that they’d always taken place. I thought it was better to talk about my other children, so it seemed like I had some idea how to be a father.

You’ve stopped answering, and I don’t blame you. I was surprised you ever did. You’ve given me many more chances than I ever deserved.

Lily wanted me to send you this drawing. She wants to be an artist like her big sister.

Happy Graduation.

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