Begin Again(95)

Volunteer societies. My heart suddenly feels full enough to burst. I’ve been trying to trust in the idea of these “secret societies” because I trust my mom not to tangle herself in anything bad, but it’s still such a relief to know that I was right to trust her. That I was right to trust them both.

“These days they’re not really a secret. The volunteer societies are open to anyone, freshmen included—the ribbons just give you an opportunity to cast votes on their activities sophomore year instead of waiting for junior year,” my dad explains. “You can only cast votes for one of the groups, but you can still be in any of the other groups you want. Heck, you might have been recruited into one already.”

I almost laugh when I realize he’s right. All this time I’ve been so fixated on following my mom’s path, and in joining the outdoor volunteer group, I’d already picked one myself.

I wait for the worry to brew, or the disappointment to sink in. Depending on the choice I make, all this effort to be in the group that she was in might have gone to waste. But louder than the worry is the comforting thought that maybe I didn’t need her as much as I thought I did. That I may have taken the long way, but maybe I ended up where I needed to be on my own.

“And you helped come up with that?” I ask.

My dad presses his lips together. He’s never been great at taking credit for things. Gammy Nell’s been on his case about him advocating for himself at work ever since I can remember.

“Yeah. But your mom really turned things around after she joined the red squad.”

Only now can I appreciate some of the differences between Dad then and Dad now. Appreciate why he felt like he needed to get away from here. He used to talk about my mom with this impossible kind of weight, but now the amusement in his voice is undeniable. Like he can finally look back and see the joy of things the way they were, instead of the pain of what might have been.

“She was the one who had an imagination for what else we could do with the program—some of our best events were all her doing. The snowman contest, cleaning up the litter in the arboretum, that big dance party . . .”

My eyes widen. All the events that have punctuated and defined my short time at Blue Ridge, for better or for worse. The ones that helped me build friendships, helped me push past the limits I set for myself, helped me realize what was actually important to me, and what wasn’t. It’s as if all this time she was holding my hand.

My dad mistakes my reaction, thinking I’m still worrying about the radio-show-dance-party incident.

“Hey,” he says. “I know you’re upset about what happened. But Milo played it off really well. You should listen to the recording, you’ll see.”

I try not to wince, glancing out the window on the passenger side, watching the little strip of Little Fells’s main street go by. A sidewalk I’ve walked thousands of times, full of people who have always known my name.

“I blew Mom’s big secret.”

“Oh, A-Plus.” I can hear the smile in his voice without seeing his face. “I can promise you that wherever your mom is, she is laughing her ass off about that right now.”

“You think so?”

“There’s nothing your mom loved more than a plan gone awry.” My dad pulls down the street to my grandmas’ house and slows the car more than he needs to, taking his time. “And I know this goes without saying, but—she’d be so damn proud of you.”

I rest my head against the cool glass of the window. “Even after everything I messed up?”

“Especially after everything you’ve fought for,” says my dad assuredly. “These years? They’re not meant to be easy. But I’ve got no doubt you’ll tackle them head-on, the same way you always do.”

It’s not that I am unused to people having this kind of unshakable faith in me. My grandmas always have. Shay and Valeria and Milo do. To some degree, I’ve even had that faith in myself. But it means something entirely different coming from him—not like it counts for anything more or anything less, but it counts in a way more meaningful to me than I thought it would.

I lift my head back up as he pulls into the driveway, and say something I haven’t in years: “Thanks, Dad.”

He doesn’t nod. Just looks at me like the words weren’t meant to be something I accepted, but something that should be a given. “For the record,” he adds, “I’m damn proud of you, too.”

My bottom lip quivers. “You’re gonna give me an ego.”

He laughs out loud again, finally shutting off the car. “If you ever get one, it’s from those badass grandmas of yours, not me.”

I smile this new, wobbly smile, one that’s genuine and confused and grateful all at the same time. “I got plenty of things from you, too.”

My dad’s eyes soften, looking between me and the house where I grew up, full of the women who built me. “Well. If that’s true, I’m one lucky dad.”





Chapter Thirty-One


The rest of the day feels like something out of some storybook version of my childhood. The four of us spend the entire day together. We make the dough for Gammy Nell’s famous caramel-stuffed peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. We all muck ourselves up outside to help with Grandma Maeve’s side of the garden (read: most of the garden, since she’s decided Gammy Nell can’t be trusted with hers) as she chain-smokes and tells us stories about her college years in San Francisco. We start up a forest-themed puzzle someone got my dad for his birthday years ago that he never opened, and continue to work on it as my grandmas put on their coveted DVD of Definitely, Maybe, which only gets whipped out on special occasions. We order takeout from our favorite pizza spot in Little Fells, and have a small army of neighborhood kids on the porch by the time we pull Gammy Nell’s cookies out of the oven.