On the night that started everything—changed everything, really—I had no idea what was coming.
But that’s always the way it goes, isn’t it? We’re just tossed along in the slipstream of time, moving forward, reacting as best we can. We never know what the most consequential nights of our lives will be, and we only get one chance to do it right.
Usually.
But that night, hours before things would start to change, I didn’t know anything was out of the ordinary. I was just trying to get my dad to stop crying.
“Dad. Dad. Oscar?” I looked over his head at my other dad, Angelo, who shot me a look that clearly saidI know. “Um. People are looking?”
We were at Otto, the fanciest restaurant in Harbor Cove, California. It was really nice—wood paneling and white tablecloths and a piano player by the bar who’d been going through a repertoire of pop songs with classical arrangements. Oscar had been trying to get a reservation for months, and when one cropped up two days after my graduation from Harbor Cove High, he’d jumped on it. I would have been fine going to the Mermaid Café, my favorite restaurant, but I was overruled. This meant that on the day of my actual graduation, we’d eaten pizza on the couch in front of a rom-com we all knew by heart—which, honestly, no notes.
My dad had been fine then, but now that we were all here, ostensibly celebrating, he’d been breaking down in tears every few bites.
“Oscar,” Angelo said firmly, putting a glass of water in front of him. “Come on. Get it together. You’re ruining Cass’s night.”
“You’re not,” I said quickly. “I’m just worried that your pasta is getting damp.”
Oscar nodded, blew his nose into his napkin, and took a deep breath, running a hand over his now totally bald head. For a while there had been a few last remnants of hair around the back of his head, but finally even these had given up.
“There you go,” Angelo said, rubbing his back. In contrast to Oscar, Angelo’s hair was long and luxurious, swooping up and across his forehead, a perfect mix of salt and pepper.
“I’m just—so proud of you, Cass,” Oscar said after drawing in a shaky breath. “Graduating with such high marks! Getting into Berkeley! And to do it with all our moves, so much disruption…it’s really impressive, sweetie.”
“It truly is,” Angelo said, raising his wine glass to me. “We’re both so proud.”
I smiled at them and raised my own glass—filled with sparkling water—to clink theirs. “Thanks, Dad. Thanks, Pop.”
Oscar wasn’t exaggerating about moving a lot. My dads ran Issac & Issac, a house-flipping business. They’d scoop up an old property (usually one only they saw potential in), then renovate, redecorate, and sell it for a profit. Then they would find their next diamond in the rough—and we would move to wherever the next house was. And when that project was over, we’d move on again. I’d lived all over California, with sojourns in Washington, Nevada, and Arizona sprinkled in to keep things interesting. We’d only been in Harbor Cove for six months, making Harbor Cove High the sixteenth school I’d attended in my academic career.
Because of this, I’d learned a long time ago not to get too attached to anything—not school, or friends, or the Band of Brothers poster hanging on my bedroom wall. All of it was temporary, and soon we’d be moving on again, to the next town, the next project, the next fresh start. So when I’d started the second half of my senior year at a new school—not ideal—I’d resolved not to make any close friends; just keep things light and easy, since I’d be going to college in the fall anyway.
But then—I hadn’t planned on Bryony.
The piano player finished her rendition of “Time After Time” to a light smattering of applause. She nodded before starting her take on “Blank Space.” I watched her play, my eyes following her hands on the keys.
When I was younger, I’d really wanted to learn piano. My dads had gotten me a keyboard for Christmas the year I was twelve. We’d try and find new teachers with every new move, and I attempted to keep up via YouTube tutorials and videos. But I found it was hard to sustain any kind of momentum, to actually get better beyond learning the basics. So after a while, I just stopped practicing, and Angelo and Oscar tacitly stopped asking me about finding more teachers. I still had my keyboard, even though I hadn’t taken it out of its case in years. I just slid it under my bed in every new place.
But whenever I saw a pianist, I liked to watch them play. I was always amazed at how they had such a limited number of notes and could still create such variations with them.
“So, are you excited about tonight?” Angelo asked, and I looked away from the piano player and back to my dads—relieved to see that Oscar seemed to be pulling himself together.
I nodded as I smiled at him across the table. “I really am.”
Oscar sighed. “When I had my grad night party, do you know what we did?”
Angelo raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Nothing! We literally did nothing. We certainly didn’t go gallivanting off to Disneyland.”
“I promise,” I said, taking the last bite of my steak, “there will be no gallivanting.”
“It does sound fun, though,” Angelo said as he stole a piece of pasta off Oscar’s plate. “Think we could pass for recent high school graduates?”
Both Oscar and I burst into laughter at the same time. “Sorry, Pop,” I said, spearing a fry. “High school seniors only.”
Harbor Cove was in Orange County, and we were only about half an hour away from Anaheim. So, our grad night celebration was taking place…at Disneyland.
I hadn’t known this was a thing until we moved to Harbor Cove. I’d been to Disneyland several times with Oscar and Angelo, but when Bryony had first mentioned Disney Grad Nite, I’d assumed she was joking. A night to run around in a theme park after hours, with only other recent graduates? And we would get to be there all night and go on the rides as many times as we wanted, without long wait times? It seemed too wonderful to be possible.
