It took less than five minutes to eat the pathetic amount of food. When we finished, Jenna and I looked at each other for a long moment before Jenna’s stomach audibly grumbled.

“Maybe this is just the appetizer?” I asked hopefully, but the waiter, eager to be rid of the plantain hand-eater and her friend, darted forward with the check.

“Answers that,” I muttered.

We called Mrs. Williams from outside the restaurant, beside the valet booth, Jenna and I fighting over the phone in our eagerness to tell the story.

“We can never eat there again, Mom. Seriously.” Jenna giggled into the phone. “Dad would have to order at least five main courses.”

“Pick us up at the bookstore,” I half yelled. Jenna tried to shove me away, but she was laughing too hard. “And bring cheeseburgers!” I added.

Her parents had a good long laugh at our expense as we reenacted the short meal over Whataburger that evening.

But here it’s only me and Mark and Trisha, and as I exhale, the room goes back to smelling like chicken fingers and the plate goes back to being just an empty plate before an empty chair.

The show must go on, though, this charade that we’re all okay. We chat about the rain, discuss what I’m reading—I lie and make something up—and when Mark brings up Missoula, I try my best not to wince.

“Soon you’ll be at freshman orientation,” he says proudly. And, with less enthusiasm, “I know it won’t be exactly how you wanted, but I hope you’re going to stay the course, hon. You … you have to live for you both … you and Jenna.”

He is starting to sniffle, and Trisha puts down her fork and dabs at her mouth with a white napkin. When she takes it away, there is a bright smudge of reddish-purple lipstick imprinted on the cloth.

When Trisha speaks, my eyes stay focused on the smudge.

“Don’t forget about that college preparatory course in a couple of weeks. It can’t hurt to be as prepared as possible for these upcoming changes, Amelia.”

I can feel a manacle forming around my ankle, any hope I ever had of doing something other than what Jenna wanted fading away. I cannot disappoint her parents by not doing what Jenna had planned for us. I have to honor her memory, and the only way I can do that is by sticking to the plan … college prep course, Missoula, becoming a college professor … even if I was—am—totally unsure what I would do if nobody were watching.

I have no choice.

I pinky promised.