Maybe I should talk in my essays about losing her. How growing up without a mother had an effect on me. Dad’s done everything a mom would do, but there were times when he had to call in for backup, like when I got my period for the first time and when I needed a bra. Grandma Gleason (well, Marian’s grandma) is usually the one on speed dial for “Female Stuff,” as Dad likes to put it.

He eyes me suspiciously for a moment. “Oh God, this isn’t the talk talk. Didn’t we have that once? I’m fairly sure we did, and I went to work the next day and took a hammer to my head to forget it.”

“It’s not,” I reassure him. Both of us would like to banish any reminder of that moment of awkward pauses, stuttering, and the fact that we both went to our rooms afterward and couldn’t make eye contact for three days.

“Are you dating Neil?” he asks.

“No!” At least at this current moment in time. We’ll see in a week.

“Okay, okay.” He holds out his hands in surrender. “I had figured something was up with how he’s always loitering around here in the mornings.”

“We walk to school together.”

“Oh, is that what the kids are calling it these days: walking to school?”

“Ew, gross, Dad!”

He laughs, proud of himself for making me sufficiently horrified. “I’ll give you that Neil’s a nice-looking kid. He’s got a good head on his shoulders. But you’re still my baby girl.” He flips the burgers and closes the lid to the grill. “What’s on your mind, Ally Bean?”

It should be simple. But I know deep down it isn’t. I don’t want to upset Dad, but I need this. I don’t know why now, but I do.

“I wanted to talk about … Mom.”

There. It’s out there. But the second I say the word, I see the anguish on his face. His jaw clenches.

He nods for a few moments before he speaks. “What about your mother?” he says in an even, too-controlled voice.

“It’s just that I think maybe I might want to write about her for one of my essays. But I don’t really remember that much. Honestly, I don’t remember anything. Like, do I have any of her traits? Do I remind you of her?”

Dad turns his attention back to the grill. He opens the lid, and smoke comes out and covers his face for a second. He flips the burgers and turns the brats. The only sound between us is the sizzle of the grease hitting the coals.