If I’m not ever given the chance, I’ll mail them to Harbor’s parents, from whom I received the sweetest card and money order for five-hundred bucks to help me settle into the next stage of life. Marina added at the bottom—or to take a vacation.

I like her way of thinking. I could use a break, but my residency starts next week. No rest for the weary and I’m definitely weary.

When I realize Amanda still hasn’t replied, I look up.

A large blue box with silver trim and gray ribbons stands upright on my table, blocking my view of her. “What is that?” I ask, clutching my purse with both hands.

From the couch, my dad says, “Just got delivered.” He starts clicking through the TV stations like he’s going to be here for a while. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

Amanda and I exchange a look, both of us blinking quickly for some reason. You’d think we’d never been around fancy boxes before . . . okay, we’ve been around them, but not so much received them.

There’s no name across the box. Who would send me something that looks this expensive? I ask, “Who is it from?”

“I don’t know.” My friend touches the box like it might bite back. “There’s a card.”

I slip it from under the ribbon and open the small envelope. “I’m so fucking proud of you – H. H.? . . . Oh shit.” I cover my mouth and glance at my dad like I might get in trouble for swearing. “Sorry.”

He laughs, knowing that’s exactly what I did. “Not much I can say about it, Pip. You’re a doctor now.”

And twenty-six, but I’ll always be his little girl.

Holding the card, I read it again. And then again.

My hands don’t shake anymore when I think of Harbor, but my heart still races.

Amanda asks, “Who’s H? . . . Oh shit.” She covers her mouth when it dawns on her, then grabs my wrist like she’s the one who needs support.

I never told her or my dad that I saw him one night, a couple of years back. I don’t know why he came to see me in New Haven. Sometimes I spend hours lying in bed thinking about that night and if I had given him a chance to speak his mind. Not that I owe him a thing. I don’t.

Not for the apartment.

Not for the gift cards.

Not for anything.

I didn’t ask him to do any of it. He did it because he felt guilty for leaving. Plain and simple. So I’m not sure why he’s giving a gift that, knowing him, is expensive, but there is no way in hell I’m keeping it. I look at Amanda, and say, “I thought you guys were going?”

“Not since this arrived. Are you going to open it?”

I’m already shaking my head when I reply, “No. I’m not. I’m going to send it back to him.”