Chapter 89
Katie
The gala was over. Ingrid and I were on the balcony, taking one last look at the sparkling city while I texted Lola and Juniper
to meet us for greasy fries and a full-blown debrief of my last two days at a diner nearby.
Back inside, dishes were being cleared, tablecloths were being shaken out, and easels were being collapsed, folded, and stowed
away. My mother hugged a few lingering donors good night as my father sat at a yet-to-be-broken-down table, eyes glazed over.
I was just about to tell my parents goodbye—to get on with my life, to laugh with my friends about things that were not funny,
to fall asleep on Juniper’s futon and fill my heart in some new and wonderful way—when the ballroom doors burst open.
“Katie!”
Ingrid gasped.
A glass shattered.
The room blurred.
Tyler McNally was standing there in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, dripping wet, holding a bouquet of bodega flowers. My heart
leaped out of my chest.
“Tyler? What are you doing here? Why are you out of breath? Why are you so damp?”
“I’m in love with you!” His eyes were wide, and his face was red.
My pulse was so loud I could not feel my feet.
“I just ran here from Queens—it’s a whole thing.
But Katie, I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since the day you were born.
I’m so sorry I wasn’t here tonight. I should’ve been here.
I should’ve been here since the very beginning.
I should’ve been right by your side whenever you needed me, and all the times you swore you didn’t too. I—”
Heels clicked behind me.
“You need to leave, Tyler. You can’t be here.”
My mother stood beside me with her arms crossed and her frown severe. Tyler turned to her. The bouquet in his grip—pink roses
with petals dipped in glitter—was suddenly upside down, and little drops of water fell onto the dance floor.
“Carolyn,” he said. “I am so, so sorry. I can’t even put into words how sorry I am. You and Paul were wonderful to me, and—”
“I asked you,” she said, “to leave.”
Tyler glanced around. There was nobody here save for the staff. No press, no patrons. He pushed down his shoulders and began
to speak again. This time, with a long and careful exhale that softened him into my favorite version of him. The one, in my
dreams, he’d never lost sight of. My heart was still racing.
“What happened when we were in high school,” he said. “I am so sorry for my part in that. I am so sorry you lost your son.
But I love your daughter. I’ve loved her my whole life, and I am not who I was, and . . . I am so sorry, Carolyn. Paul. I
am so sorry, but I couldn’t have saved him. He didn’t want to be saved. And I don’t know what to say to make that go away.
I don’t know what to do to turn back time.
“You don’t have to forgive me. You can spend the rest of your life blaming me for what happened, and I will carry that. I can live with that. I’ve already done it for eleven years, for eight years. If that’s what you need, I can keep doing it.
“You don’t have to forgive me. But I need to forgive me. I was a kid, and I made a mistake. I made the biggest mistake of
my life. But I can’t do this anymore. I can’t spend another day staying away from Katie because of what happened when we were
teenagers. I don’t want to spend another minute punishing her for the mistakes the rest of us made. And I—”
“Tyler,” my mother said. “You listen to—”
“Carolyn, stop.”
Everything froze.
It was my father. He had stood up, and he was walking toward me. My eyes welled. Whatever was left of my blown-to-bits heart
shattered all over again.
“Dad?” I squeaked. Tyler was just standing there, catching his breath.
“Paul,” my mother said. “We can’t just—”
He turned to her. “Let them go, hon.”
“No,” she said. “I . . .”
My dad wrapped his arms around me. “I love you, baby. I’m so sorry we weren’t there for you. I’m going to try, okay? I promise
to try.”
I nodded. He wiped his eyes, squeezed my wrist, then walked the five feet over to Tyler and pulled him into a massive hug.
“I missed you, son,” he said. “I’m so glad you’re all right. I’m so glad you turned out all right.”
Tyler blotted his eyes with the cuff of his jacket.
“I, uh . . . Thank you. I really want to catch up, I . . .” He turned to me and smiled.
Crooked—but good. My heart broke again. Whatever.
“I’m sort of in the middle of something right now, though.
I fucked up pretty bad with your daughter this morning.
Don’t know how long it’s going to take me to fix it.
Can I call you? Tomorrow, maybe? When I have a minute? ”
His face lit up. “Go,” he said. “Both of you—go. Nothing would make me happier. Please.”