Though I dread this phone call, I also know that it is necessary. I take my phone and lock myself in Dom’s room. A fresh wave of tears hits me at the scent of him. Of his bed, his aftershave, his laundry, his life. It seems so surreal that I’m not going to have him anymore. That his scent will fade, and his possessions will be tucked away or donated. That his body will no longer be warm and strong and vital.

I call Dad before Nora, thinking he is for sure not going to pick up. Why would he? I’ve been nothing but a shit kid to him over the past six years. But maybe parents have a sixth sense, because this time not only does he answer, but he does so on the second ring. Before I can tell myself that it’s okay to hang up. That I’ve tried.

“Everlynne,” he clips out.

At the sound of his voice, I break. With reckless abandon. I moan in pain, not even recognizing my own voice. I sound like an animal.

His tenor immediately changes. It is soft now. “Oh . . . don’t . . . don’t cry. I . . . um . . . Everlynne, please, tell me what’s going on. I hate to hear you like this.”

This, of course, only makes me cry harder. Because I’ve given up on this amazing father. Who read me stories and learned how to dance from watching YouTube videos with me, and always maintained that I was talented and beautiful and could do whatever I wanted if I put my mind to it.

“What happened? Tell me.” I hear the door to his office click shut.

“Dad, I’m so sorry. So sorry for the way I’ve behaved . . .”

I can’t seem to finish the sentence. He clears his throat, soothing me again. “I’m your father. I can be here for you, even if I don’t necessarily agree with your behavior at certain times. Now, tell me what happened so I can help you.”

But he can’t help me. No one can. I lost Dominic and no one can bring him back.

“I-I-I had a fiancé,” I hiccup.

“A fiancé?” He sounds stunned.

“Y-yes.”

“And . . . you broke up with him?” He sounds confused. Cautious. Put off.

“N-n-no.” Each word falls out of my lips like it’s a hot potato. “H-he—he—he died.”

Putting this as a statement makes me lose it all over again. As if there is anything left to lose.

“Your fiancé died?” Dad asks. I can tell he is lost and shocked.

“Yes.”

There’s a pause while he digests the information. Finally, he speaks.

“How did he die? When?”

“C-c-car accident. Yesterday. A few hours after we got engaged. I don’t know what to do.”