Sometimes I wish my dad had been a worse father. That he didn’t coach my softball team from first to eighth grade. That he didn’t go on every little-kid ride on our trip to Disney and act like he was having the time of his life. That he didn’t make a little chef’s hat for me to wear when I’d visit him at his pizzeria two blocks from our house. If he didn’t do those things, him being gone wouldn’t feel like a giant hole cut out in every memory I have or will ever have. But he did. And I’ll never stop missing him.

“I was numb after that. I had spent my last moments with my dad fighting over a boyfriend who barely called me and who had sleepovers with other girls. I stormed out like a selfish spoiled brat and after a lifetime of having an amazing relationship, my father left this world being disappointed in me. The guilt was suffocating, and I became filled with so much hate. Hate for me, hate for Ryan, hate for our entire relationship. I blamed us and I hated us.”

“Damn.” Maggie sighs. “Did you tell Ryan when it happened?”

“No. The day of Dad’s funeral, he called just as it ended. I picked up and he said he needed to talk to me. I was out of my mind and hearing his voice sent me off the deep end. I told him I was done listening to his problems and that I couldn’t believe I wasted as much time with him as I did. I said I had never been happier than I was that last month without him. I told him every time he called, I laughed at how pathetic he was.”

“Me oh my. And his response was?”

“That he had been dating Madison for months behind my back and that he was only calling me out of pity. He’d said he didn’t want me to show up crying at his doorstep like I did the month before.”

Maggie flashes a pained expression. “You guys were an intense pair.”

“Yeah. And then last night, he told me he was calling that day because he just found out his parents were getting divorced.”

“Of course they were,” Maggie says, almost laughing. “Because this breakup wasn’t tragic enough. Do you think he really was seeing that Madison chick while you were together?”

“I don’t know. I did until last night.”

“What was it like at the party? Was he still pissed? Did he seem different?”

“We were both bitter—with good reason, I guess.”

“Do you think—” she hesitates before going on “—do you think you would have forgiven him back then if it turned out he made up the Madison stuff?”