I turn onto my side. My blinds are slightly open, and moonlight makes long rectangles on the floor. “I’m gonna say something and you don’t have to say anything back, but you can’t get mad at me either. I’m just gonna put it out there.”
“Okay, what?” he asks.
“I think you should finish high school.”
For a while he doesn’t say anything, and I think our little metaphorical boat on the lake is about to capsize. But then he starts to laugh. “Woman, I pour my heart out to you and you tell me to finish high school.”
“Your heart is great. It really is. And I promise you, you’re not wrong about music. I’ve seen you onstage. You were made for it. But also, just finish high school. You have one semester to go. Your dad will be a lot less mad at you, I promise.”
His laugh turns into a low chuckle. “All right, my turn to say something that you can’t get mad at me for.”
“Oh boy.”
“Don’t worry. It’s not that bad.”
“Oh boy,” I say again.
“I think you should try to work things out with your dad. I think you should go to his wedding.”
Now our boat does capsize. I sit all the way up. “After what he did? Why would you say that?”
“Right after Clay died, I used to see him everywhere, but it was weird. I didn’t see all the things we used to do. I kept seeing all the things we weresupposedto do.” He clears his throat. “That make sense?”
“You were missing the future you were supposed to have.”
“Yeah, like I was having memories of things that never got to happen.”
I think about Dad and all the stuff we don’t get to do with each other anymore. It’s the big things like playing pool, and it’s the silly, small things too. Like the way he used to kiss my forehead at the kitchen table every morning. Or the way he played Ella Fitzgerald or Nina Simone on Sunday mornings. The way he would leave the kitchen cabinets open and drive Mom up the wall.
You can miss the future with people who are still alive too.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll think about it.” I try to stifle a yawn, but it comes out anyway.
“I should let you go to bed,” he says. “Sorry I woke you up.”
“Don’t be sorry. You can wake me up anytime,” I say. “Good night, X.”
“Good night, Evie,” he says.
CHAPTER 38
Hustle Thursday
Me:You were good with the hustle today
X:I like it
X:It’s basically disco dancing but with a partner
Me:That’s a good way to put it
X:I didn’t come up with that
X:I read it online somewhere
X:Trying to impress you with my dazzling insight
