“I . . . I don’t know,” he said.

“You and Mom don’t love each other,” I said, and it was the truth. “Maybe you guys did once, but whatever you have now isn’t love.” Another statement he didn’t contest. “You always say you’re going to leave her, but you always come back. Do you even mean it anymore?” There was no accusation in my voice, only sadness.

I thought Dad and I were the outsiders, that together we formed the resistance to Mom’s tyranny, but now I wasn’t so sure. I thought we were on the same side, looking out for each other, but maybe no one was ever looking out for me, and I was angry.

“Do you know what it’s like watching the two of you destroy each other over and over and over again? What it’s been like all these years? You’re both miserable and you make everyone around you miserable.” I took a deep breath. “What you and Mom have isn’t love. It’s just misery.”

His silence was heavy, oppressive.

“Did you ever love each other?” I asked. I wanted to believe that love was real, that maybe before Christian and me they had starred in their own love story. That maybe once upon a time, things were good.

“I don’t know,” he said, unable to face me. He stared at the ground, hanging his head.

“Then why’d you get married?” I wasn’t angry anymore, I just wanted to know.

“I guess I thought it’d make me happy, make us happy.”

“Were you? Happy?”

“I think so. For a while at least.” He still wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Why do you stay?”

“A lot of reasons.”

“What’s the main one? And don’t say it’s me and Christian.” I wasn’t giving him any outs.

Finally he looked at me, attempting a smile that ended up in a grimace. “What can I say, I’m a romantic,” he joked weakly.

I stared at him blankly.

“It’s terrifying,” he said. The truth at last.

“Leaving her?”

“Being alone.”

This moment between us was so strange and awful. I’d loved my dad, I’d resented him. I’d been surprised by him and disappointed by him, but I’d never felt what I felt then—pity.

It was depressing, growing up thinking your parents had all the answers, thinking age was the same as wisdom, all to realize one day that no one had the answers. That your parents were not gods or monsters but human, fallible. That in a way, they’re children just like you. That all of us are just children, lost and scared, trying to find our way.

I thought of what Jack said, about how survival was a talent. We were all just trying to survive.

MONDAY // JUNE 26 // DAY 290

41.

Diane and Dale Novak, Jack’s aunt and uncle and Evan’s parents, were both educators—Mr. Novak taught second grade and Mrs. Novak was the vice principal of the middle school. On the second week of summer vacation, they invited me over for dinner. Their house smelled like cinnamon snickerdoodles and was filled with knickknacks from their travels.