“Did you just hiss at me?” Mom asks.
I shield my eyes like a vampire and dive underneath the covers, where it’s safe. “Maybe.”
She gives me a gentle shake over the blanket. “Come on. Get excited. It’s prom night! You’ve been waiting for this since you were a little girl.”
I croak a weak “Yayyyyy,” but it comes out like a wounded animal. How else can I explain my lack of excitement? I feel total apathy every time I envision myself taking pictures at Ollie’s, walking into the crowded gym.
“And you’re going with Clay Emmanuel Diaz. The hottest guy at MHS.”
I lift the blanket and shoot her an icy look. “I don’t even want to know how you know Clay’s middle name.”
“I creeped him on my burner Instagram account,” she admits proudly, as though having a covert IG account to keep track of your kid and their friends is totally normal. I shiver when she tugs the blankets off me, exposing my skin to the cool air. “Come on, get up. I’m not letting you sleep away the best days of your life.”
I cast a skeptical glance. “Are these really the best days of my life?”
“That’s the thing about the best days of your life. You don’t know they’re the best until they’re already gone,” she tells me, eyes brimming with nostalgia.
That’s a truly depressing thought. If that’s true, what does it mean for someone like me who lives for crushing goals and milestones? Will I ever experience the true joy of achieving them in the moment? Or will the best part always be remembering those times after they’ve already passed?
For a moment, I think Mom is going to bust out her high school yearbook again before she stands. “It’s ten thirty, by the way. Don’t forget you have brunch with Dad in an hour,” she reminds me.
Brunch with Dad. Maybe that has something to do with my mood. With all that’s gone on the past few days, I haven’t had a ton of time to think about it. But it’s been in the back of my mind. Maybe once this brunch is over, my excitement will surface.
The diner’s aesthetic is what Nori calls grunge-retro. Only, it doesn’t seem deliberate. The space hasn’t been renovated in decades. The black-and-white-tiled floors are cracked and scuffed. There’s one crater toward the back of the diner that everyone knows to avoid. The torn, sun-stained booths are a mint-ish color. It’s a hot debate whether they were originally blue or green. （I’m team green.）
There’s a jukebox in the corner that only works if you kick it at exactly the right angle and with just the right amount of force. While the ambiance isn’t exactly ideal, it’s got the best diner food in Maplewood, which is why people put up with the space. The same family has owned it since it first opened, and their recipes have been passed down from generation to generation. Even the gigantic plastic menus haven’t changed since I was in a booster seat.
I expected to arrive first. Dad is perpetually late. But when I walk in, taking in the scent of deep-fried goodness, I see him hunched over at the window table, perusing the menu. Our table. He always requested it because he knew I liked to look out the window and play the car game. The one where we’d lay claim to alternating cars that went by. He’d always let me cheat and claim the pretty cars.
From the entryway, he looks thinner. His thick black hair is now a little sparse around the crown of his head. It reminds me that almost a year has passed since we’ve been face-to-face. He doesn’t really know me, and maybe I don’t really know him. I think about Renner’s offer to come with me. I really could use one of his pep talks right now, even if he is a nitwit.
But Renner’s not here, so I take a step forward, and then another, until I reach the booth.
“Hi, Dad,” I say, tepidly sliding into the booth across from him.
His eyes widen and he opens his mouth, like my appearance is some sort of shock. “You made it,” he says, in the awkward way an old dude would greet his business associate. “Hope you don’t mind. I ordered the grilled cheese for you. I know you used to love them.”
He’s not wrong. I do love the diner’s double-decker grilled cheeses.
“Oh, uh, thank you. How was your drive from the city?” I ask, studying his face. Mom always said I get my looks from Dad. We share numerous features, dark eyes, thick brows, heart-shaped lips, and the same crooked smile.
“Long,” he says with a chuckle. “Summer traffic is picking up.”
“Ah. Any vacations planned?”