Page 155 of The Rom-Commers

“Whatever story you tell yourself about your life, that’s the one that’ll be true.”

I lifted my head to give that idea my full attention.

My dad went on, “So if I say, ‘This terrible thing happened, and it ruined my life’—then that’s true. But if I say, ‘This terrible thing happened, but, as crazy as it sounds, it made me better,’ thenthat’swhat’s true.”

“You believe you’re better? Since the rockfall?”

“I know I am,” my dad said, with so much conviction I had to believe him. “I’m wiser, I’m kinder, I’m funnier, I’m more compassionate. I can play at least ten instruments one-handed.” He held up his good hand for us both to look at. “I’m more aware of how fragile and precious it all is. I’m more thankful, too—for every little blessing. A ladybug on the windowsill. A succulent sprouting a flower. A pear so ripe it just dissolves into juicy sweetness in your mouth.”

Maybe this wasn’t polite, but I really wanted to understand him. “But don’t you miss Mom?”

My dad gave me a sad smile. “I do. Of course. And would I give upallthis personal growth to see her again for even an hour and just clamp her into my arms? In a second. But that’s not a choice. All we have is what we have.”

“I miss her, too,” I whispered.

My dad squeezed my hand. “It’s okay,” he said then. “Here’s another thing I accidentally figured out: happiness is always better with a little bit of sadness.”

BY THE TIMEmy dad was in a pretty stable place with his postsurgical health, Sylvie and Salvador decided to make an announcement: they were getting married.

A surprise express elopement. In twenty-four hours.In Dad’s hospital room.

“We’re eloping,” Salvador explained.

“But we’re just doing it here,” Sylvie added.

“We don’t want to wait,” Salvador said.

“We just want to start our lives together,” Sylvie said.

“Sooner—not later.”

Of course they did.

“Works for me,” my dad said.

I wasn’t sure if it worked for me. And I was just wondering if there were a way for me to call in sick to this particular family event… when Sylvie asked me to be her maid of honor.

“What?” I said, as she dragged me out of the room to the hallway.

“You have to let me apologize to you,” Sylvie said then.

“You’ve already apologized like ten times.”

“But you never accept it!”

She wasn’t wrong.

That’s when Sylvie burst into tears. “I don’t know what else to do,” she said now, her face getting blotchy and her voice starting to rasp. “I didn’t mean to say it. I was just—I don’t know—scared and exhausted and trying to defend myself. I don’t think that. Nobody thinks that. It just popped into my head and I said it—more because it was mean than because it was true.”

“Does that make it better?” I asked.

“I regretted the words even as I was saying them. There’s no excuse. I don’t know how to make it right. But I’m begging you to forgive me.Please, please! You’re my favorite person. You’re my hero! Please tell me that I didn’t ruin our relationship forever in one stupid moment.”

I mean, I had figured I’d have to forgive her at some point. I just thought I’d give myself a few years.

But now she was suddenly getting married. Tomorrow. And if I didn’t let this all go, we’d spend the rest of our lives knowing that I was mad at herat her wedding.

What choice did I have, really?

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