Her failure to eat dinner is a harsh reminder of why leaving for college is both the thing I want most and the thing I don’t know if I can have — because if someone isn’t here to make sure she takes care of herself, she won’t. What then?

“Do you need help making something for dinner?” I ask.

“No, I’ll get something myself in a little bit.” She chews on her lip, then turns to her desk, to her work. It resurrects a dull echo of my earlier anger; I know she’s not actually going to eat. Somehow she manages to hold things together when it has to do with her job, but never when it has to do with home, or with me. It’s funny that she judges Dad so harshly for choosing his job over me when she does the exact same thing day after day.

In my room, I toss down my messenger bag and see a letter sitting on my pillow. I stare at the blue envelope, feeling the chasm inside me widen and stretch, a knife twisting in an old wound. Still, there’s no way I can let it sit there unopened.

I slide my finger under the flap and pull out a card with a rocket ship on the front. My eyes sting. I hate that even after all this time he knows me — not because he stayed in close touch, but because so much of who I am was informed by the time I spent with him. Because he’s half of me. Because even if I wanted to, I can’t excise the memories or the strands of DNA that gave me my hopes and dreams. Inside he wrote:

Happy Halloween! Our favorite holiday has finally gained a lot of popularity across the pond, which means your grandfather is working on a prank for the unlucky trick-or-treaters who come to his house. Maisie, his night carer, had the scare of her life when she opened the broom closet and a straw-stuffed corpse fell out. Pretty sure Dad is still laughing, the sadistic arse. As for me, I’m going to resurrect my Doctor Who costume for the contest at work. Remember when I wore it to take you trick-or-treating? You were dressed as a TARDIS, and Mrs. Clemons from around the corner asked if you were supposed to be a Tampax box?

Anyway, I hope you and your mum are well and you have a happy holiday. I wish we could be together for it, but hope to see you in the summer.

Love, Dad