Harper and Emery looked shocked and relieved, but I felt sick. Since Dean’s death, it had come out that the Yearwoods were on the brink of bankruptcy. Even homelessness. Dean had been keeping a 4.0 GPA, coxing for the crew, and working two jobs trying to keep them afloat. He’d been awarded a full scholarship to Yale and would’ve been premed, but the long hours and stress had gotten to him. Rhett had been supplying him with Adderall to keep up, but that night Dean had wanted something “fun.” Rhett had obliged, but the pill had been unknowingly laced with fentanyl. One dose—one bad pill—and that’s all it had taken to steal one of the best people away forever.
“I’m glad the Yearwoods don’t have to struggle anymore,” I said. “But Dean was worth more than twenty million. He was priceless.”
The table grew quiet—an impromptu moment of silence for our friend—and then Delilah cleared her throat.
“I can’t stay.” She glanced between Harper and Emery. “We’re still on for tomorrow night?”
“What’s tomorrow night?” I asked.
“We’re having a sleepover,” Emery said. “A real, honest-to-God, girls-only sleepover.”
“Em’s never had one,” Delilah said. “We can’t let her leave without spending one night, braiding hair, eating junk, and talking about boys.”
“Namely you,” Emery said in my ear and kissed my cheek. “They’re going to be so sick of me talking about how amazing you are.”
“Too late,” Harper said.
Emery’s break ended, and I hugged the girls goodbye, Harper the longest.
“Take care of our Em, okay?” she whispered. “And let her take careof you.”
“I’m going to miss you,” I said gruffly. “You and Dean were my first real friends. Leaving you sort of feels like leaving him all over again.”
“Grief is strange that way,” she said. “I feel the same, now that you’re going. But I’ll be out to visit you soon. You’re both stuck with me.”
“We’d better be.”
I waited in the parking lot until Emery came out, carrying a to-go back in her hand. She climbed into the Buick’s passenger seat. “It’ll be cold by the time we get there, but he loves the fries so much.”
“He does.” I leaned over and kissed her. “I love you so much.”
“Me too,” she said. “And if I haven’t told you enough already, I’m so grateful that you’re willing to move to California with me. I feel almost selfishly happy when MIT had been your dream…”
“I have a new dream,” I said. “And it’s better for him.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
We drove to Boston as the brilliant July sun was just starting to sink. At Willow Glen, Dad was in his chair by the window with a view of the gardens below. Emery went to him with her bag of food while I talked to his primary doctor. All the doubts I couldn’t tell Emery, I said to him.
“Am I making a mistake?” I asked Dr. Wilbur. “Dad told me he wanted to stay. But…”
Dr. Wilbur smiled gently, his bald head gleaming in the hallway light. “Your father is in severe cognitive decline, Xander. Most days he doesn’t know where he is at all. And while I know you want to grant him as much agency as you can, being with him is the best gift you can give. If that means taking him to California, then so be it.”
The words were reassuring, but somewhere, below the damaged brain tissues and failing neurons, he was still himself. I hated to think I was doing something he didn’t want or that I was abandoning hislegacy by leaving MIT.
Dr. Wilbur read my skepticism. “Talk to him. Tell him how you feel, but I think being with you is more important than anything else.” He smiled gently. “Your father is a kind man and very joyful. One of my favorite patients, if I’m being honest. I hate to see him go.”
“And he’s okay to make the trip?”
“He’ll be fine. I promise.”
I heaved a breath. “Thank you.”
Inside the room, Emery had set up a tray for Dad and put the food in easy reach. He picked at fry, a smile on his lips. At this stage, he had difficulty speaking, and he was losing the ability to feed himself, too.
“Can I sit, Em? I need to tell him.”
