Page 120 of The Perfect Love

“He’s lucky to have you,” Sarah says.

“We’ll bring pizza for dinner,” Amanda says.

“Thank you! Bye!”

They call goodbyes after me, but I barely hear them. As much as it drives me crazy he didn’t tell me, I’m learning Trevorhas to be bullied into support. He loves being a caretaker and protector, and that’s fine, but he needs to learn I’m as fiercely loving and protective as he is, and I will always be there when he needs me, whether he asks for it or not.

Trevor

I don’t think I’m okay.

I said I would be okay.

That’s what I told myself. That’s what I told Hyla when she texted yesterday. It’s what I told my mom when I convinced her she didn’t need to come up here today.

But I don’t think I’m okay.

Maybe it’s because this is the ten-year anniversary of my dad’s death, but I think it’s more about how the last year of my life has been. Throughout high school, and especially early college, I took on this playful, shit-giving, sometimes grumpy role. Usually with an air of I don’t give a fuck. When it comes to people who don’t know me… I don’t. I don’t care what they think of me. But I played all of those things in trying to find myself again after losing my dad, and I never realized how much they became a coping mechanism. Something I latched onto.

Are those things still me? Yes. But they’ve hidden the broken bits well enough that I forgot how many there were.

This morning I woke up and immediately, everything felt wrong. Dark.

I hate that darkness. I will always hate it. It’s like an extra thief, robbing me of my father’s joy.

In an attempt to tune that out, I thought I’d go through pictures of him, remind myself of his smile and how happy he’d be to see where I am now.

But then I started thinking of specific memories and looking for those pictures. Now I’m sitting on my bedroom floor, surrounded by every photo I brought with me—and there are a lot—looking for one I can’t seem to find. It’s from my ninth birthday. I’m standing with my parents, Hyla, and the mascot from the Binghamton team at the time. A giant bee. My dad’s smile was massive. My mom was looking at him instead of the camera. Hyla was vibrant and happy because she was surrounded by love. And I’d never been so damn happy in my life.

But I can’t fucking find it. Now my brain is trying to gaslight me into thinking it doesn’t exist. That I made the picture up. The logical side of me knows I didn’t, but I also can’t stop looking for it. I don’t know what time it is or how long I’ve been doing this. I only know I have to find it. Have to figure it out.

I pull my knees up to my chest. It’s all too much.

Ten years since my dad died.

Almost half my life without him now. It makes me sick. In a few years, I’ll have spent more of my life without him than with him. And that’s not fucking fair.

Where’s the picture?

I just want to remember. Feel it again. Live that moment for a few seconds. Feel the weight of his arm around my shoulders and the unending happiness I always had with him.

My breaths get sharp and heavy.

I hate this.

A picture catches my eye. One of him and my mom. She’s making a silly face, and he’s looking at her like she’s the entire world.

I should call Mom and see how she’s doing. This is harder for her than me.

I need to check in with Hyla too.

She’s not okay for a whole list of other reasons.

I lost my dad, but she never really had parents. Not ones who count anyway. If you can’t do the bare minimum and love your kid, can you even be called a parent?

Hyla’s not okay. Mom’s not okay.

I need to take care of them.

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