The next week goes by quickly. I go to work, I hang out with Bri, I go to the movies with my dad. I miss Garrett, but I don’t talk about it much and I try not to think about it much, either. I remind myself that my life is pretty awesome and that eventually this whole thing won’t hurt at all.

Most of the time, it works. I think about him, wonder what he’s doing, but I don’t feel that huge ache anymore, where I need to go back to how we were and can’t. It’s my new normal, and it’s working out okay.

So here I am, Friday afternoon at KidFUN, and my phone rings. It’s the director, Eileen. “Can you come see me?” she asks.

“Sure.” I hang up and sit for a moment, wondering what’s up. But of course I have no idea, and the best way to find out is to go see her like she asked. So I do.

In Eileen’s office, she closes the door and gestures for me to sit. I’m not sure if I should be nervous—she and I are friendly, but I can’t remember her ever calling me into her office and closing the door.

I choose the least rickety of her visitor chairs, and Eileen goes around to the other side of her desk and sits down. “Beck,” she says, “I want you to know, you’ve done great work this year.”

“Thank you,” I say, feeling a flush of pleasure. It actually makes me feel better than she can imagine; I feel like I’ve been totally focused on all my personal shit, and really struggling to do my job well. Another thing to be mad at Garrett for.

No. I’m not mad at Garrett. I’m getting over Garrett. And Eileen calling me in here to tell me I’m doing well at work is a good indication that I’m succeeding—or at least that I’m not the hot mess I feel like some days.

“I know you said that you’ve applied to graduate school,” she continues. “Have you heard anything back from any of them?”

I nod. “A couple. I’m waiting to see if I get any financial aid.”

“What happens if you don’t get a good package?”

“I’m sure I’ll get something. I just don’t know which school it will be. Colby already accepted me, but there’s not enough aid for me to go.”

“Does that mean you’d be leaving the area for grad school?”

I shrug. “I suppose so. I’ve been kind of trying not to think about it till all the letters have come back.”

“Would Colby be your first choice, if they had come through with financial aid?”

“Definitely,” I say. “I love it there, and it’s where my mom teaches. It’s a great school.” Why is she asking me all this? “But like I said, I didn’t get much aid from them, so I’ll have to go somewhere else.”

Eileen smiles. “Well, I have an offer for you, if you’d like to hear it.”

“Of course,” I say.

“The offer comes in two parts, so hear me out,” she says. “First, we’d like to offer you a full-time position in the financial offices of KidFUN. You could still work with the camp directly in the summer—but you’re good at the fundraising side, and that’s just as important as anything we do with the kids. Without our donors, we wouldn’t have anything for the kids.”

“I don’t think I’m qualified—”

“I’m not done. You’re right, the position requires an advanced degree.” She smiles. “But the right person is just as important as the right degree. Rather than lose you and take our chances on finding someone as competent as you are, we’re prepared to make a tuition assistance offer.”

“I’ve never seen any reference to tuition assistance,” I say. “I didn’t think KidFUN offered that.”

“We don’t, normally. But you’ve been with us for quite a while, and you are very good with the accounting department. You’ve been with us, in one way or another, since you started as a camp counselor a decade ago. That kind of thing really resonates with donors.” She opens a drawer in her desk and pulls out a folder. “It may sound extravagant, but it benefits KidFUN a lot, too. If it didn’t, this proposal wouldn’t have made it out of the last board meeting.”

An idea snakes through my head—one that I don’t like. “Whose idea was this?”

Her cheeks pink up a little. “Mine.”

“Are you sure?”

She looks perplexed. ”Definitely,” she says. “I was dreading finding a way to replace you, and it came to me that I needed to find a way not to have to. So I figured out the costs, and the details, and then I went to the board.”

“You did this for me?”

“Yes, but I did it for KidFUN, too, Beck. You’re an outstanding employee, and I really have been upset over having to lose you. This way, I don’t have to let you go. It may also help you with your future goals.”

I laugh. It does indeed help with my future goals. Working here, where I already love it? Getting help going to the grad school I wanted? “I guess I need to ask about salary and benefits and stuff.”

“I would be severely disappointed if you didn’t,” she said, grinning. “Shall we negotiate?”

“Yes, we shall.”

We spend the next thirty minutes deciding on salary and benefits. In the end, I walk away with a smaller salary than I might command in the private sector, but that was always going to happen. That’s how it is, working for a nonprofit. But I do get good health insurance, a retirement plan, and generous time off. I have to work for KidFUN for ten years, or pay the tuition assistance back, but I’m fine with that. This is where I want to be anyway.

All in all, I’m ready to sign on the dotted line, but Eileen types up a statement with the official job offer, including the changes that we negotiated.

“Take some time,” she says. “Talk to your parents, make sure this is what you want. Then, tomorrow, you can come back in and officially accept.”

“You sound pretty sure that I will,” I say.

“Definitely. But run it by your folks anyway.”

I thank her and go back to my desk with the job offer in hand. I pack up my things and walk down the hall, headed for the side door and my car in the parking lot beyond.

And, without even thinking about it, I pull out my phone to call Garrett.

It hits me like a gut-punch. I can’t call Garrett. Something major just happened, and he doesn’t know, and he won’t know, because he’s gone. I hear myself make a soft, wheezing sound, and realize I’m going to cry. I pick up the pace and hurry out to my car, praying no one will try to stop me and talk to me.

Fortunately, no one does. I make it to the car and drive away quickly, waiting until I’m out on 114 before I find a fast-food place and pull into the parking lot. I drive all the way to the back, park next to the dumpster, and have myself a good, long, self-indulgent cry.

Then I dry my eyes and square my shoulders, and drive home. It’s okay to be sad. I’m allowed to be sad. And probably it’ll reach out and grab me from time to time—but I’ll go on. And knowing that is a comfort. A small comfort, but still.

I pull into my driveway and go inside, dumping my stuff in the breakfast nook. Mom’s not home yet, but Dad’s in his studio, sketching the bare bones of something on a pad set up on an easel near the window.

I give him the good news, and he sets down his pencils and comes over to hug me.

“Beck, that’s fantastic! Your mom’s been sad about the idea of you going away to school, and I’ve been worried about loans. This is great.”

“Eileen wants me to take a day and think about it,” I tell him. “But I already know I’m going to take it.”

We talk a bit about the benefits, and eventually Mom comes home and I have to tell the whole thing again. She’s as excited as Dad was.

“I’m delighted.” She hugs me, really hard. “Congratulations, Beck. You earned this, putting in all those years with them when you could have gotten some desk job.”

“I wondered at first if you had something to do with it, if you talked to her or something.”

Dad ruffles my hair. “That’s just a lack of confidence talking. We had nothing to do with it, and if you think about everything you’ve done for them over the years, you’ll see that they made a smart choice. It’s a good offer for you, but it’s a good offer for them, too.”

“That’s what Eileen said.”

“Well, that clinches it,” Mom says. “Eileen’s a wise woman.”

I laugh.

“Should we go out to celebrate?” Dad asks. “Someplace fancy?”

I shake my head. “I’m gonna call Bri and ask her to celebrate with me tomorrow, but you know what I’d like tonight?”

“You name it,” he says.

“Let’s just get some pizzas and watch a movie. Just the three of us.”

My mom hugs me again. “I’d love that,” she says. “You call Bri, Dad can call for pizza, and I’ll pick a movie.”

“How come you get to pick?” Dad says, poking her in the side with one finger. “You’re gonna pick a chick flick and—”

“And you’re gonna like it,” she says.

I smile and go back to the breakfast nook for my phone. I pull it out of my purse and dial Bri.

Bri agrees to go to dinner, but wants to know why. “Is it to do with—”

I know exactly what she’s going to ask, so I cut her off. To hell with Garrett.

“You’ll never guess, so quit trying. I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Hey, if you’re buying at Manetti’s, I’ll do whatever you say.”

“That’s my girl,” I say. “I gotta run. Mom’s picking the movie and it’ll be You’ve Got Mail or something if I don’t intervene.”

“I like You’ve Got Mail.”

“That’s because you’re a cheeseball. I’m gonna try to talk her into Return of the Living Dead, for Dad’s sake if nothing else.”

Bri laughs. “You are seriously one of a kind.”

“I know,” I say, and the happiness in my voice is real. I’ve got amazing friends, an amazing family. I’m not going to be sad right now.

If I have my way, I’ll never be sad again. I’m going to have an amazing life. This is just the beginning of it.