“The fuck?” Thomas says. “Don’t hit me while I’m driving.” His voice is aggressive for just a second. “While I’m driving you to Riverside to figure out whether you fucked your brother who you think is the love of your life.”

We spend the rest of the ride talking about Thomas and his love for Clover, who clearly—based on Thomas’s telling of the story and my brief interactions with her—has no serious interest in him. Hearing about Thomas’s sad romantic life makes me feel slightly better about my own.

“This is the Riverside exit,” Thomas says finally. “Where do I go next?”

I direct Thomas to Riverside City College, a route I unfortunately still know by heart, despite not having been there in a decade. On the way, we pass the sign for Mount Rubidoux, this outdoor park my dad used to take me to as a kid. As soon as Thomas sees the sign, he bursts out laughing. “Creative,” he says.

“Shut up and drive,” I say.

I burst into my dad’s office with a theatrical flair that would impress Lee Strasberg’s ghost.

His door is partially open, and he is speaking with a girl who I assume is a student because she is wearing a Friends T-shirt. When I enter, the girl jumps.

“I need to speak to you,” I say. “Dad,” I add, so the student, who is now looking at me with frightened eyes, will know I am not fucking around.

“I’ll come back later,” she says, quickly gathering her things, exactly as I’d hoped.

“Emily,” my dad says. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” I say.

After the student scurries out of the office, I shut his office door. Then I look him right in the eyes. I have to admit I am a bit high on the drama of the confrontation.

“Did you cheat on Mom?”

My dad looks like he’s been punched in the gut. It’s a look that tells me everything I need to know. He takes off his glasses and massages the bridge of his nose. In the silence, I catch a framed family photo on his desk. We are at Big Bear Lake, one of the only family trips I remember ever taking. I must have been eleven or twelve. My dad and mom are smiling, wearing primary-colored T-shirts. I am wearing all black and glaring at the camera with hostility. I hated that vacation. My parents kept insisting on doing outdoor activities like waterskiing and biking. I hated the sun, and I hated physical activity even more. The whole trip I stayed in my room and closed the blinds and acted out Winona’s scenes in Beetlejuice over and over while my parents enjoyed themselves.

“What is this about, Emily?” my dad asks.