“It’s not what I want,” I say.

“You want to major in something different?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I don’t know if I want to go to Montana at all.”

Silence.

“Jenna would want you in school as planned. This is nonsensical. Amelia, what else can you do?” His voice rises until it fills up all the phone lines between Dallas and Lochbrook. It is a large lump of sound working its way through wires, startling birds and small children gazing out car windows, even though I know cell phones don’t use wires.

“I don’t know,” I say again, my earlier resolve vanishing. “I don’t … I’m not sure. Maybe photography? I was thinking maybe I could start out at a community college. Figure out what it is I want to do.”

“That is not a suitable course of action. That will not help you get into the finest graduate schools in the country. Community college is a place for retirees to take computer lessons and for kids who weren’t accepted into schools like the one you will be attending. Is that what you want? To waste all of your intellect and precious time?”

I’m floundering in his sea of words, hands clawing at the waves and trying to find air to breathe. “No,” I say. “That’s not what I want.”

I want to say he’s wrong about community college and ask what’s so wrong with figuring out what I want to do and what I’m good at before I spend thousands of his dollars on a degree I might not even like.

I want to tell him that I don’t know what I’m doing, that Jenna was the smart, efficient one, not me.

My lungs are out of air, but Mark’s aren’t.

“Amelia,” he says, keeping his voice calm and level, if strained. “You have suffered a terrible tragedy at a very young age. You are understandably distraught. Trisha and I understand better than anyone how close you two were.” Jenna’s dad has started crying, and I’m left to drown in his tears as well as his words. I want to tug the thread between Nolan and me as hard as I can, but Mark keeps talking. “Go to school like you planned, like Jenna wanted. You should have everything you need to lead a successful life. We will help you. Do you understand?”

I don’t understand anything anymore, but I want this conversation to be over, so I say, “Yes, I understand.”

“You must give yourself a chance to adjust. You must give yourself a chance at a prosperous life, Amelia. It’s what Jenna would want.”

His voice breaks when he says her name, and now he’s sobbing into the phone.