Page 144 of If We Say Goodbye

The scene I’m working on right now is one of my favorite memories from our last trip to the coast. We were playing volleyball on the beach. We were all pretty bad at it, but it didn’t matter—we were on cloud nine.

There’s a knock at my door.

“Yes?” I say.

The door opens, and I catch my breath.

Dad stands in the doorway. He wears a timid, tired smile, and his head hangs low. But when he looks at me, his eyes are clear, reminiscent of the person I knew months ago.

There’s a stiffness in the air from neither one of us saying anything. I can’t tell if he’s waiting for me to say something, or trying to think of what to say himself.

After a moment, I say, “Are you coming back home?”

His mouth parts like he’s about to talk, but instead he walks in and sits on the corner of my bed. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t have to explain. I know exactly what he’s talking about. He’s apologizing for ignoring me. For blaming me. For drinking. For hurting Caleb.

There’s a part of me that wants to be mad, but more than anything, I just want him back. I miss us.

He takes a deep breath, eyes on the floor as if he’s scared to look directly at me. “I’m going to rehab. I want to be a good father again. I’m not who I want to be right now. I need help.”

The thing about Dad is he’s like me. He has a hard time expressing himself, so the fact that he’s here now, telling me this, means a lot. It warms my heart.

I rest my head on his shoulder and take his hand, giving it a light squeeze. I don’t have to say much because I know that’ll mean more to him than words can say.

I firmly believe one day it’ll be like old times. We’ll be close again. Before we know it, we’ll be watching our silly little movies and laughing again. It’s only a matter of time.

As I hold his hand in mine another thought creeps into my mind. If Dad is like me, and he can ask for help, maybe I can too. Maybe talking to someone about everything I’ve gone through isn’t a bad idea after all. Maybe it’s time for me to reach out for help.

I’m ready to heal.

EPILOGUE

“Say cheese,”Mom says, crouching to get the best angle with her camera.

Caleb wraps his arm around me, and Sadie jumps behind us holding bunny ears over both of our heads.

Mom snaps the picture. Then she fans her face.

“You aren’t crying again, are you?” I ask.

“You look so grown up. I can’t help it.”

All three of us are sporting our graduation gowns over our formal attire. I hate it, to be honest. Not only did I have to get dressed up, I had to hide my outfit behind a giant blue cape.

Sadie, on the other hand, threatened to wear hers for the next week. She loves the unflattering material. “I have to keep the guys away somehow. Think of this as my man repellent.”

“My turn,” Mrs. Park says. Next to her is Jordy, who smiles wide at us.

The three of us pose again.

“Do a funny one!” Jordy yells.

We each make a face, but right before the picture is snapped, Caleb kisses my forehead.

Sadie squeezes in between us. “Joint custody, remember?” she says to Caleb.

Caleb hops around to my other side, taking my hand. “I’m not good at sharing.”

She scowls at him. “I have dibs.”

Dad walks up to us. In his hands is one of my paintings. They displayed it along with a bunch of other pieces from our class. It’s a painting in my signature style with thick lines and raised colored texture. The scene is an abstract version of a sandy beach and calm waters. In the picture, I’m running after Ethan.

Every stroke is peaceful and calm because when I think about that trip, I remember the laughs and the joy. And even though he’s in the picture, it isn’t a picture of grief.

It’s one of acceptance—a reminder that thinking about him is what keeps him with us.

A reminder that, even through the pain, we will be okay.

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