Begin Again(66)

“What’s up?” my dad asks.

“Oh. Um—an alert from the campus app.” I pull the phone away from my ear to read the notification. After the thundersnow debacle, Shay personally marched me into the student office to get someone on the tech team to sync my phone to the campus alerts. “A ribbon scavenger hunt event in the library. I should . . .”

I shake my head. Not one week ago Milo was reminding me that the ribbons should be an Andie thing, not a compulsively-getas-many-as-I-can-for-Connor thing. And not five minutes ago my dad inadvertently reminded me why we are all hunting for ribbons in the first place. Not as something to cross off a to-do list, but something that’s meant to be fun.

“Always there for the hunt, just like your mom,” says my dad with a laugh.

The frankness of the words knocks me off-kilter. The warmth of them. The confusion of hearing them at all.

“I won’t keep you. But take a look at your calendar, okay?”

I’m too stunned to push back. I should keep him on the phone. See if he’ll say anything else about my mom, now that we’ve gotten this close—almost closer than we ever have.

But I’m too overwhelmed by it to think of anything to ask. Just like your mom, he said. The words are already pressed somewhere too deep to reach.

“Yeah. I will,” I tell him.

“Love you, A-Plus.”

I press the phone closer to my ear. “I love you, too.”





Chapter Twenty-Two


“Well, what do you like to do together?”

Today’s call is an older woman asking for advice on emotional distance in her long-term relationship, and I can already tell she might be a tough sell. Her voice has that exasperated tone of someone who can’t quite believe she’s doing this. I’m expecting it to rattle me, but the adrenaline doesn’t have that sour, too-quick feeling it once did. It feels warm and energizing. Like a challenge.

“Maybe that’s the problem. We’ve got our own separate interests.”

Her voice is tightly controlled, like she’s holding the rest back. I wait for a moment, even through the dreaded dead air. The more I’ve transitioned from hiding behind my old column to actually connecting with people in real time, the more I’ve started to understand that there are a lot of circumstances where people aren’t necessarily looking for advice. They just want somebody to hear them. They just want to know that they’re not alone. I suspect that’s what this woman might be doing, even if she doesn’t know it.

And that makes this whole thing less intimidating—the idea that you can help sometimes just by being there. No fix-it urge. Just understanding.

Sure enough, the caller lets out a sigh and says, “At first it was nice, having that kind of independence from each other, but now . . . I don’t know. Over the years it’s kind of distanced us.”

“How do you mean?” I ask.

And then, almost reluctantly at first, she tells me. Not necessarily the specifics, but the feeling of it. And yet again I’m brought back to that moment in the supply shed with Milo, that feeling more universal than most: that constant, human worry of wondering whether you’re enough.

I suspect most of the benefit from this came from letting her say it out loud, but this is an advice segment. So I still offer what I can.

“Is there any place you know they’ll really shine? Something they’re good at, something you can learn more about yourself?” I ask. “And same to you—some place you can take them and let them a little more into your world?”

“Well, now that you mention it . . .” The caller clears her throat. “I suppose. He’s been talking about a conference that I could attend with him.”

“You could make a weekend of it,” I say encouragingly.

There’s a gratifying hint of bemusement in the caller’s voice. “You’re right. I could,” she says.

“Good luck to you both,” I say sincerely.

“Thank you,” she says wryly.

“Anytime,” I say, as the call disconnects. “That’s all from us today,” I say, because we’ve just started making my segment the end of the show. By now the sign-off is so easy that it rolls right off my tongue: “Go make the most out of it, because every day is a chance to begin again.”

I find myself beaming as I hop off the stool, an energy flowing through me so far from the old ache that it sometimes feels like the insides of me have shifted. I feel solid. Like what I’m made of finally matches what I want. Milo has to bounce to get to Bagelopolis for his shift, but not before leaning in and saying close to my ear, “Seems like you’ve got a handle on things. Maybe my friend the Squire will let me sleep in next Friday?”

I’m still in the afterglow when I meet Valeria for tutoring at the library a few hours later.

“Someone sure is chipper on this rainy day,” she observes.

I set my bag down, fishing my stats textbook out of it. “Trivia tonight,” I remind her. “We’re going to crush Team Knight Owls.”

Valeria’s lips press into an uncertain line. “I wasn’t sure if I should come or not.”

Usually I have more subtlety than a falling brick, but I’m too eager for an opening to stop myself. “Shay’s really sorry.”