I graduated today. Magna cum laude in classic literature—a degree my father would have hated. Not that he was here to tell me. There was no one here to see me graduate. I did my walk, congratulated my friends, and went home.

Do you know what I found waiting for me?

A letter from D. Baker.

I thought it was from you. I swear, it was as if your ghost walked up behind me and licked my neck. Took me forever to open the damn thing. I thought, maybe she regrets returning the necklace. Maybe she knows I’m in California and wants to meet up.

Stupid, huh?

It wasn’t from you, Delilah Baker. It was from Darrell and Andie Baker. Yes, your parents sent me a card offering best wishes upon my graduation. I have no idea how they knew or how they even found me; I haven’t talked to a Baker since the night of the prom.

They sent me a card with a hundred dollar bill inside. Me. The guy who tormented their eldest and dumped their youngest. I couldn’t believe it. I sat there, holding the card with that crisp Benjamin staring up at me, and laughed.

I inherited three hundred and thirty-one million dollars from my mother, (Yes, you read that correctly. I couldn’t believe it either when I was informed) and your parents, thinking I was a poor college kid all alone, sent a little something to start me off in life.

If I was able to cry, I think I would have done it then.

So here I am writing to you, wanting nothing more in this world than to be at your parents’ dinner table, eating your mom’s famous roast chicken and throwing peas into your hair when they aren’t looking—just to see you flip me the finger in new and creative ways. I want that so badly, my chest fucking hurts.

Maybe it’s your graduation day too. If so, I hope life gives you everything you want, that you find someone who loves you, that you live each day to the fullest. That maybe, in the darkest corners of your mind, you think of me just a little bit.

—M. A. S.

A smile wobbles on my lips. I want to seek out my mother, give her a big hug for caring about a boy she hadn’t seen in years. She was right; he needed us. And I hadn’t seen it. Pressing a fist to my lips, I force myself to go on.

Hey Tot,