TWENTY-TWO
M y dad’s funeral?” I repeat.
“I mean, we didn’t really talk,” she says, shrugging. “You hugged me ... but you were pretty busy running around, making sure everything was okay. Being your usual organized self.”
I repeat the words to myself. Dad’s funeral.
Dad is dead. Dead.
I’m too numb to move. To do anything but sit here, white-knuckling my smoothie until my fingertips dent the cup. It doesn’t feel real. How can it? Dad is dead, I don’t know what happened, and I can’t ask Kassie without her thinking I’ve lost my mind.
She gives me a pained expression. “I’m sorry. I know it’s probably still really hard.”
“I wasn’t close with him anyway.” The words don’t feel good coming out, but it’s the truth. Especially since I’ve lost the last thirteen years.
“I know. But you loved him.”
As I fight to keep the tears at bay, my mind pivots to our phone call at the party rental store. Pacing around the hot parking lot as Dad invited me to spend the summer with him and his pregnant girlfriend out of nowhere. I think about how mad I was that he didn’t show up to our party last night. How mad I was when I saw he wasn’t on the wedding seating chart. About all the times he wasn’t there when he should have been. And now I have nowhere to target that anger. Because Dad is dead.
So instead, I just sob. Uncontrollably.
Kassie kneels next to me, wrapping her arms around me tight. She doesn’t say anything. She just lets me cry. It’s like all the pent-up anger has boiled up inside me, and now it’s overflowing like lava, splattering in salty tears off my knees. And while I know my anger and disappointment are valid, those feelings now feel unfair. Unjust. I guess it’s hard to be mad at a dead guy.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, blowing my nose into a napkin. “I’m a total mess right now.”
“Oh my god. Don’t be sorry.”
“I know comforting some grieving rando on the sidewalk isn’t exactly how you saw your day going.”
“You’re not a rando, Char.” She leans forward and places her hand on my leg, which I can’t stop bouncing out of anxiety. Yet another thing about my thirty-year-old self that hasn’t changed. “I’m always here for you if you really need me. Okay?”
“Promise?”
She extends her pinkie, and for a fraction of a second, I see nine-year-old Kassie with a purple streak in her hair the summer we met. “Promise.”
Christopher “Chris” Wu passed away suddenly on March 19, 2036, at 56 years of age. He was a loving and devoted husband, father, son, coworker, and friend.
He was born to Michael and Lisa on September 20, 1979. After graduating college, Christopher chased his dreams by attending Columbia Business School, which paved the way for a successful career in finance.
Christopher leaves behind three children, Charlotte (29), Marianne (11), and Lily (8), and a loving wife, Alexandra.
I read Dad’s obituary at least fifty times on the train ride home, and spent the rest of the time stalking Alexandra’s social media. Sure enough, there are a few photos of Dad, Alexandra, and my sisters. They’re posing for a photo among fall foliage and they look like a quintessential family from a catalog. You’d never guess he had another daughter.
The older girl, Marianne, closely resembles Dad, while the younger one looks more like Alexandra. I keep scrolling through photos, expecting to feel anger and resentment toward them, but I don’t.
I conduct a quick scan of my older texts from Alexandra, stumbling upon one from six months ago.
Alexandra: Hi Charlotte. Sorry to bother you, but I wanted to let you know that I was going through your father’s old stuff and found a couple boxes I thought you might want. I know he’d want you to have them. You’re more than welcome to come by anytime to go through some of it. I know the girls would really like to see you.
I’m overwhelmed with the need to speak to her. I need to find out what happened—like, did Dad and I talk? Do I have any relationship with Alexandra or my sisters? But part of me is scared. Scared to see how perfect his new life was. And what if I don’t like the truth about our relationship?
The easy solution would be to ask Nori, the only person who won’t think I’m a lunatic. But I never confided in Nori about stuff with my dad before. It’s not that I don’t trust her, or that she’s not sympathetic. Quite the opposite. She’s one of the most trustworthy, empathetic humans on the planet. It’s the fact that her family is perfect. Her parents have a storybook romance; they met in Korea when her dad was on exchange.
Every time I’ve brought Dad up, she reacts with an idealistic sense of optimism. She’s convinced all I need to do is talk to him more. That I just need to tell him that missing my graduation hurt. She’s convinced that a dash of honesty will magically heal our relationship.
The only person who truly understood my brand of angst was Kassie. Yet another thing that’s changed.
As I watch the city skyline disappear, replaced with industrial warehouses and trees, I realize I still don’t know what actually happened between Kassie and me. Did we naturally drift apart like Nori said? Or did we have some sort of disagreement? Does it even matter at this point?
Truthfully, we’ve been at odds since we started high school. When she joined the cheer squad, I joined Model UN. Whenever I wanted to stay in with snacks and a movie, she was itching to party. I had to beg her to join student council with me freshman year. And sometimes I think she only stayed because she knew I wanted her to. Our love of scary movies was the only tangible we really had in common.
Still, I was drawn to Kassie’s energy, her light. She was vivacious, fun, spontaneous, everything I wasn’t, and still am not. I guess I’ve always wanted a piece of it, hoping her radiance would rub off on me. She also got me through some of the worst times of my life. Like my parents’ divorce. And the best. Maybe I needed Kassie. But if I’m being honest, I’m not sure I need her by the end of senior year. And maybe that’s why I didn’t notice her absence right away at Ollie’s party. Because I haven’t needed her for a long time.
I check my phone as the train nears Maplewood. Renner has texted a couple times.
Pain in my ass : Hey, you on the way back yet?
Pain in my ass : I had to leave for school without you. Let me know when you’re on your way.
Nori: Ollie is having a bonfire tonight. You and Renner should come after prom.
Biking in a dress and heels isn’t exactly ideal. I may or may not have inadvertently flashed my goods to an old man on a motorized scooter. But since Renner already left, I had little alternative.
I found an off-the-shoulder little black dress in the bowels of my closet. I texted a picture to Nori, who said I looked like a tired middle-aged woman on a once-a-month date with her husband to keep things “fresh.” Precisely the look I was going for. Very teacher appropriate. Besides, it was either this or my wedding dress—a simple, yet elegant lace A-line with a drop sleeve—still in a fancy plastic garment bag.
I contemplated ditching prom after finding out about Dad, but I couldn’t leave Renner in the lurch. And if anything can take my mind off devastating news, it’s prom.
The beat of a fast, bass-heavy song vibrates under my feet as I approach the gymnasium. A man in a navy suit is casually leaning on the doorframe, chatting up a table of formally dressed students taking tickets at the door. It stops me in my tracks. See, I have an Achilles’ heel. Guys who lean on things (preferably pensively, with muscly forearms exposed). I can’t exactly explain why, but there’s something about that pose that gives me the flutters.
This mystery man’s relaxed, überconfident stance reminds me of a dashingly handsome A-list celebrity on a red carpet. Who is this relaxed, confident man, and what is he doing in the likes of Maplewood? It’s only when he turns his head that I realize: it’s Renner.
He’s smiling that wide Mr.Congeniality grin that makes me want to scream into my pillow. He looks like the Bachelor in front of the mansion, eagerly awaiting a limo of women vying for his affection. This isn’t ninth grade Renner, who attempted to eat a Kinder chocolate egg whole like a pelican on a dare. Or the Renner who rode a bike off Ollie’s roof into the lake for a TikTok.
I curse the fact that Adult Renner looks this dapper in a suit. Either that, or I’ve caught some severe virus on the train and am venturing into delusion.
“Hey, beautiful,” he says smoothly, eyes literally sparkling. I’m waiting for him to laugh and yell, Just kidding! But he doesn’t.
The students next to him aww in unison, staring up at us with wistful doe eyes. “You guys are so perfect,” says a girl in tortoiseshell glasses.
“I want a marriage like that one day,” the other girl says to her friend.
Renner’s ears turn pink. He’s watching me, silently encouraging me to play along. We are supposed to be getting married, after all.
I force a smile and pull him in for a brief hug. All for show, of course.
“I was beginning to think you were leaving me to the wolves tonight,” he whispers in my ear as we head into the nearly empty gym. Prom only officially started five minutes ago.
The room is entirely transformed. The lush purple drapery, glittery streamers, and balloons make it feel like we’re really in New Orleans. Mardi Gras feathers and beads drape the tables, along with fancy masquerade masks of varying colors and designs.
I tilt my head. “Oh, trust me, I considered it.”
“I know you did.” He playfully nudges me in the ribs and gives me a rueful smile.
Maybe it’s the suit, but looking at Renner is making me nervous. “So what exactly is the job of a chaperone?” Tasks are the best distraction.
“According to her”—he points to Hedgehog Lady, who’s waving from the other side of the gym—“we’re on watch for students who are drunk or sneaking in booze. Oh, and apparently making sure no one’s crashing without a ticket.”
I can’t help but giggle at Renner. He’s so earnest. “Glad to see you’re taking your duties seriously.”
“So how was the city?” he asks.
“The city was ... interesting.”
His brow shifts and I can tell he wants to prod. Instead, he nudges me with his elbow. “Ah. Did you do a little adult indulging while you were there?”
I contemplate telling him about Dad right then and there. But the last thing I want to do is ruin prom with death news. “Oh yeah. I went wild,” I say sarcastically.
“You went to see strippers, I bet.”
I choke back a laugh. “That’s what any responsible person would do the moment they reach adulthood.”
“It’s only logical.”
“How did things go with you?” I ask. Before I left, he mentioned he was going to go to his mom’s for dinner.
“Good. My mom made lasagna, so I can’t really complain,” he says good-naturedly. “Met her boyfriend, Jared. Honestly, he’s a cool dude. Apparently, he and I go for beers every Thursday. And he helps me coach the junior track team.”
I feel much lighter knowing he’s feeling better. Before I can tell him that, Hedgehog Lady sidles up next to us. “Charlotte, thank god you’re here. None of the other chaperones will listen to me.” She points to a white-haired man in the corner, head down, arms folded over his chest, napping right next to the DJ booth. His face is familiar. It’s Mr.Kingsley, our career-planning teacher. Just a little older.
“All he’s done is drink all the strawberry punch and sleep,” Hedgehog Lady says. “And the parent chaperones are just gossiping and eating all the snacks.”
I crack my knuckles, ready for the challenge. Delegating is my superpower. I was born for this. “I’ve got this. Don’t worry.”
“Need help?” Renner asks, taking my hand as I head to the small kitchen attached to the back of the gym.
A tingle spreads down my spine at his touch, and I take a minute to make sure I’ve heard him correctly. This is a first. He’s never offered to help me with any student council tasks. Like when I was struggling to carry two full buckets of soapy water at the car wash fundraiser and he snidely told me to keep up the good work while he flirted with Anya Holton.
“I’m good. Thanks,” I say, dropping his hand.
It doesn’t take much to set the chaperones straight. When I intrude on the mom gang in the back room, they stand at attention, steeling their spines as though I’m some drill sergeant. Waking Mr.Kingsley from his slumber proves to be a task. After shaking him, Renner tries poking him with a measuring stick. He remains conscious for ten minutes before falling asleep again.
Students flood the gym in packs over the next hour. By nine, the entire dance floor is crammed. Turns out, kids from the future have brought back grinding. I keep accidentally making eye contact with students, bent over, gyrating against each other’s junk.
Twerking isn’t the only relic that’s been resurrected. Frills and ruffle dresses are back too. They remind me of Mom’s old prom pictures. Gotta love cyclical fashion.
Renner and I hold down the fort like nightclub bouncers. We’ve confiscated multiple flasks of vodka hidden in toilet tanks. Renner thinks we should let “kids be kids” and go easy on them, but the last thing we need is students leaving wasted on our watch.
“Caught these ones trying to drink it behind the bleachers,” I say, handing Hedgehog Lady the tenth flask of the night.
“You’re a boss. Putting this straight in the collection.” By collection she means the stash teachers are going to hoard in their desks for emergency prep periods. “Hey, you and J. T. have been on the ball all night. Go have some fun,” she says, giving me a light shove.
I stumble backward into someone.
When I teeter around, Renner grabs me by the waist. “You’re good,” he says. His breath feathers my ear.
“Sorry. Hedgehog Lady pushed me,” I explain, cheeks heating with our proximity. Before I can gather the wherewithal to move away, a familiar tune fills the air. It’s “(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life” from Dirty Dancing . One of Mom’s favorite movies.
Hedgehog Lady makes a funny motion with her hands, pretending to waltz with the air.
“Looks like she wants us to dance,” I say, uneasy.
Renner tightens his grip on my waist. “It would be illegal not to. This is a banger.”
“You’ve seen Dirty Dancing ?”
“Who hasn’t?”
“Just didn’t know you were familiar with ’80s romance movies.”
He lifts a shoulder. “It may be ancient but it’s a classic. You should do the run and jump,” he urges. “I’ll catch you.”
I wince at the thought. “No. I don’t trust you. And I haven’t had good luck with falling lately.” I imagine my face hitting the floor and waking up fifty years in the future, wrinkled like a prune.
He pouts. “Come on. I won’t drop you.”
I stay put, feet on the ground. “Nope.”
“Fine. I’ll just sing it,” he says.
“Please don’t sing it.”
“Oh, come on. I know all the lyrics.” He does not. In fact, he butchers them. It’s quintessential Renner, going for gold with zero forethought. But strangely, it doesn’t make me as angry as that day in his van.
He spins me awkwardly, my arm tangling with his. “So how did things with Kassie go?”
“I showed up at her superfancy yoga studio and knocked over a plant. Made a massive mess,” I admit, letting myself feel the music as I spin back into his chest.
I feel the vibration of his laugh against my cheek. “Was she mad?”
“No, actually. We went next door, had a smoothie, and I asked why we weren’t friends anymore.”
He nods like he understands, smoothing his palm down the small of my back. “And?”
I shrug when he spins me around again. Adult Renner isn’t too bad of a dancer. “I didn’t get a clear answer, but I don’t think it was anything dramatic. She seemed super happy for us.” I work down the lump in my throat, still not ready to talk about Dad.
“Really? I expected something more dramatic.”
“I know. I mean, whatever happened, it kind of feels like we just gave up on almost ten years of friendship.” My stomach twinges saying it.
We sway around for a couple moments before he speaks again. “Can I be honest about something?”
“When aren’t you honest?”
“I always thought you deserved better than Kassie,” he says.
This surprises me, mostly because I’ve never heard him talk badly about Kassie. In fact, I assumed the opposite. That he’d encourage her not to be friends with me. I blink at him. “Really? Why?”
“You were an amazing friend to her.” I watch the green strobe light dance across his face as he finds the words. “You were always there for her. Always stood up for her, helped her pass high school. Come on, you know it’s true,” he says when I shake my head. “You did all her homework for her. She cheated off you all the time.”
“Okay, in her defense, she was a good friend to me too,” I point out. Aside from the fact that she never let me take photos on my good side. Or her inability to text me back in a reasonable time period. Or her inability to keep even the tiniest secret. “She’s always honest with me. Gives great advice. And sure, she always put Ollie first. But can I really blame her? He was her boyfriend and—”
“You deserve better friends,” he cuts in. This hits me in the gut. No one has ever said anything like that to me before. “Even if you are insufferable,” he adds with a laugh, pulling me closer. I actually like it. I want to be closer to him.
“As insufferable as you?”
“Not quite. But at least we can be insufferable together.”
I giggle into his chest, allowing myself to sag against him as the song comes to an end. When I dare to lift my face up, our eyes lock. It isn’t the intense staring contest we often find ourselves in. There are no daggers in his eyes. It’s something else, a softness I can’t quite pinpoint.
My body buzzes, and the sensation intensifies when he pulls my hips flush against his. My gaze drops to his mouth, and I can almost imagine myself popping onto my toes and brushing my lips against his. I wonder if he’d taste sweet, like the fruity punch we’ve been drinking all night.
He dips his chin, dropping his lips closer and closer until we’re exchanging short bursts of breath. But the moment my lips graze his, the song changes and the mood evaporates into dust and nothingness as the pack of students fills the dance floor again.
We stumble aside, the moment broken.