“So…” my dad drawled when we were alone, “you wanna tell me what the hell that was about?”

“I don’t suppose no is an option?”

He shook his head.

I looked in the direction where Beckett had disappeared, chewing my lower lip anxiously. “Well, you caught the basics. Beckett was engaged to Emily, but she broke it off. And now his mom is apparently trying to play matchmaker. Or re-matchmaker, I guess.”

“U-huh.” He put a hand my back, guiding me toward the rental car garage. “And how did we get involved in this little family drama?”

“Beckett invited us.” That was true. He’d even invited me while we were still back in River Glen. “I swear, I had no idea that Emily was going to be here.” That was also true. I was killing this honesty thing! “And he’s my friend. How can I make him face this all alone?” So many truths.

My dad nodded as we walked through the sliding doors to the noisy pick-up area outside. Between the sound of planes, shuttle buses, and the nearby freeway, I could barely hear myself think, much less have a discussion with him. So we walked in silence until we got to the Hertz garage. He’d checked in before I arrived, so all we had to do was get in the car.

I tossed my backpack in the trunk and pulled out my phone to text Beckett, Are you okay? then anxiously sat in the front seat, picking at my cuticles, waiting for him to respond.

My dad programmed our hotel address into the GPS and followed the voice’s directions to get on the highway. I stared at my phone, but no messages came through.

“Emmy.”

“Mmm?”

“You think you can tear your eyes away from the screen long enough to talk to your dad?”

Guilt made me tuck the phone under my thigh, where I’d be sure to feel even the slightest vibration. “Sorry.”

He asked me how my flight had been, if I’d had an okay Thanksgiving, and how my classes had gone. I tried really hard to stay present, even though half my brain was focused on my hidden phone. Why wasn’t Beckett answering? What was going on? What was Emily saying to him? Was he listening?

“I can’t believe you willingly left your Harley in Alaska,” I said when we hit a lull in our conversation.

“It’s an awfully long ride through Canada and the United States in December.”

“Still. That bike is basically your home.”

He made an indistinct, hesitant sound.

“What does that mean?”

He sighed, then kind of laughed. “Well…I was hoping to tell you this in a little better circumstance than the car, but, uh…well, things with Charlene are pretty serious.”

I didn’t want to be hurt, but I couldn’t help feeling a twinge of pain. That gut reaction of How can he do this to mom? I looked out the window. “Oh?”

“She’s really wonderful, baby girl. I know you’ll like her.”

“That’s great.” My tone wasn’t as enthusiastic as I’d hope to fake.

“Emmy, I know what you must be thinking.”

“I’m just tired.”

“I still miss your mom every day. Nothing will ever change that.”

I picked at another cuticle. “I miss her, too.”

“I really let you down, Em. I know that now.”

I looked over in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

“When your mom died, I was…I was crushed. You’d gone off to college just the year before and then she was gone. I’d never felt so alone. That’s why I sold the house. I couldn’t stand to be surrounded by all the memories of you two.”

“I was just in Irvine.”

“I know that. But I knew you needed to lead your life. You needed to focus on school. A twenty-year-old isn’t supposed to prop up her dad.” He sighed. “And I know I probably let you lead that life a little too much on your own. You had your friends, lots of people around you, and I let that feel like enough. I should have been there for you more.”

My eyes burned like I’d gotten hand sanitizer in them, and my voice was thin and quiet. “No, dad. I’m the one who should have been there for you more.”

He patted my knee. “It wasn’t your job. That’s a parent’s job.”

I couldn’t say anything more. There were too many tears rolling down my face. When I didn’t speak again, my dad looked over at me.

“Oh baby girl, I’m sorry.”

We were in the middle of a busy road with no way to stop, so all he could do was pat my knee. The GPS began agitatedly warning us that a left turn was coming up in a half mile, then 600 feet, then 200 feet. I wanted to take a hammer to the thing before it stopped advising my dad not to miss the stupid turn. Luckily it was the last turn, and within a minute, we were in the parking lot of our hotel.

My dad found the first available space and threw the car in park, unbuckling his seat belt so he could slide closer and give me a hug. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. You know I hate it when you cry.”

Someday, men will learn that telling a girl not to cry is basically an instruction to do the opposite. Today was obviously not that day, though, as I hugged my dad and cried and he told me not to cry over and over again. He said it in the same tone he’d used when I was a little girl with a fever, or a bee sting. The same tone he’d used when my first boyfriend had broken up with me in my sophomore year of high school. It was the familiarity, not the words themselves that were the comfort.

When I finally had control of myself, I sat back a bit and wiped my eyes with the back of my wrist, sniffling. “I”m sorry. I didn’t mean to go all crazy on you.”

“You’re not crazy,” he said, unknowingly echoing Beckett.

I couldn’t resist sneaking a look at my phone, but there was still no response.

“You’re really worried about your friend,” my dad observed.

“Yeah.”

“He’s a big boy. I’m sure he’s doing fine.” He finally killed the rental car’s engine. “Now what do you say we go check in?”

“Okay.”

The hotel was nothing remarkable. Clean, and recently updated. The kind of place that doesn’t give you the willies and doesn’t make your jaw drop. I guess that might seem cold and anonymous for Christmas time, but I didn’t mind. There was a big tree in the lobby and Christmas music playing softly in the background. And I was with my dad, which was really all I expected out of the holiday.

We checked into our room and my dad let me go into the bathroom to do some repair work on my mascara after the crying jag in the car. When I emerged, he’d gotten a recommendation for a local Tex-Mex place from the front desk.

“You still want to keep up our tradition, even with this invite to the family drama party?” he asked.

My family wasn’t traditional. I was an only child of an only child (my mom) and a youngest child (my dad) whose family lived on the other side of the country. My mother was a terrible cook, and my dad’s culinary achievements were limited to the field of breakfast. They were both workaholics who’d been deep in Silicon Valley during the early dot com days, so my concept of the holidays had never included crackling fires, homemade gingerbread houses, or turkey with all the trimmings. What we did have was a Christmas Eve tradition of going out for Mexican food. It was pretty much the only constant from year to year, and the only thing my dad and I had maintained after my mother’s death.

“Of course I do!” I said.

He smiled broadly.

* * *

The Mexican place was a little storefront in a strip mall, but the salsa was made in-house and the margaritas were delicious. Our conversation was easier now, and I told him more about the new friends I’d made in Iowa. He tried and failed not to cringe when I talked about Gross Anatomy and how I weirdly missed our cadaver now that he’d been sent off for cremation.

“We named him Gary,” I said.

“I still don’t understand how you can like this stuff,” he admitted.

I shrugged. “I don’t understand how you can look at computer code all day.”

“Computer code never smells or spills on your pants.”

I laughed.

We talked about Alaska and Canada. His eyes lit up talking about the area. He couldn’t wait for me to come up to see him there.

“Will you actually be staying long enough for that to happen?” I asked.

“Like I said, things have gotten pretty serious with Charlene, so…yeah, I’d say I’m staying put for now.”

“Wow.” Tears pricked at the back of my eyes again, but it didn’t hurt so bad now. “I guess I’ll have to meet her, huh?”

“I’d really like that.”

We talked about when I might be able to come to visit. It would be tough since we had classes during the summer in the PA program as well. But there was a week between spring and summer classes where I might be able to make the trip.

“You could bring someone with you,” he suggested. “In fact, you should. It’s the kind of experience you don’t want to see on your own. You need backup to believe it’s real. Do you know what I mean?”

“I’d be with you,” I reminded him.

“Still. If you wanted to bring a friend. Or someone special.”

At that moment, my phone finally buzzed with an incoming message. It was from Beckett. It was a drop point from the map, giving me his address. My heart fell. That was it? He leaves with his ex-fiancee and this is all I get? I forced myself to put the phone face down on the table and look up at my dad.

“He sent the address.”

“Great.”

Another message vibrated the phone on the table. I snatched it up, reading, I’m sorry. Please come. I hope you haven’t been worrying. I’m sorry.

It wasn’t enough. I wanted to know everything. I wanted to know he was okay. Still, it was better than just the map location. I stared at the screen a moment longer, than put it down.

My dad was watching me when I looked up. I frowned. “What?”

“Does he know?” he asked.

“Does who know what?”

“Your Beckett. Does he know how you feel?”

My heart stopped. I looked away. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do.”

Unconsciously, I began to play with the bare spot on my left ring finger. “Dad. Don’t be weird.”

He sighed. “It’s times like this I miss your mom the most. She would have known what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“I know that’s what you’d prefer,” he drawled, rolling his eyes in imitation of my younger self. “But sometimes you just have to put up with your old, decrepit dad giving you fatherly advice.”

“Oh brother.” My dad was anything but decrepit. But he always pulled this bullshit when he wanted to tell me what to do.

“One thing I’ve learned from your mother’s passing is that life is too short.”

It was too cliché to be his final advice. I waited.

“It’s too short to waste on people who don’t give as much as they get. And it’s way too short to waste on not going after what you want because you’re scared.”

“Have you been listening to self-help books in your helmet speakers?”

“Har har. You are hilarious.” He paused to take a long drink from his margarita. “My point is, I want the best for you. And I don’t want you wasting your time on someone who will never return your feelings.”

“And what about someone who does?” I asked.

“Then don’t waste your time waiting around. Go get him.” He paused. “Or her. I guess I should leave that possibility open, right? That’s the way you youths are.”

“Now who’s hilarious?” I said dryly.

He ignored me, signaling the passing waitress for the check.

“I have something I want to give you,” he said when she disappeared toward the cash register. He slipped his hand into his breast pocket and pulled out something small enough to fit in his fist. “I’ve carried these with me since your mom died. I wanted them to remind me of her, and remind me how lucky I was to have her. And now I’ve gotten lucky again with Charlene. In a different way, of course.”

My stomach clenched, but I smiled.

He nodded. “But this is something that belongs to just us. You, me, and your mom. You were what made us us.”

I knew what he meant. It was something my parents had told me my whole life. They weren’t married when my mom got pregnant, and they didn’t get married until after I was born. But they always said they didn’t get married just because I came along. They said I made them want to be together in every possible way, including legally. That I made them them.

“That’s never going to change. I want you to have it so you can remember that.” He held his fist out, gesturing for me to cup my hand below his. When he opened his fingers, my mom’s gold wedding rings fell into my hand.

Feelings of awe, joy, and sorrow washed over me. Tears sprang to my eyes again. I knew it wouldn’t be a torrent, like it had been before, but I also knew there was no resisting these tears. I stirred the rings in my hand—the diamond solitaire and the curved band of aquamarine—my birthstone—that slipped around it.

My dad spoke softly when he continued, “I know you’re not going to be married any time soon—”

I looked up, eyes wide.

But he suspected nothing, he was only talking. “And I wouldn’t expect you to wear your mother’s rings when—if—you get married. But I wanted you to have them. She’d like that.”

I nodded, unable to speak. I wanted the rings, because they’d belonged to my mother. I didn’t want the rings, because the only reason I had them was that my mother was dead. I wanted to confess everything to my father in a rush. Tell him I was already married and that I’d thought even though it was a lie at first, maybe it wasn’t going to be a complete lie anymore and then we’d come here and everything was falling apart. But I didn’t want to tell him any of it. I didn’t want to break his heart to think that not only had his baby girl married without telling him, but that she’d done it for an apartment.

So I said nothing. I closed the rings in my fist and squeezed them until the stones bit into my skin. And I missed my mother so fiercely it was like a physical presence inside of me wanting to escape. My dad covered my fist with both of his palms.

“She’d be so proud of you.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

The waitress returned with the little black folder for the check, and my dad released my hands to accept it.

“So,” he said after he tossed some cash into the folder, “let’s go see if your Beckett needs rescuing, eh?”

“He’s not—” I wanted to say that he wasn’t mine. It was an instinctive reaction to dad teasing. But the protest died in my mouth. Because just like stepping over a crack, or holding my breath past the graveyard, I refused to put the words out in the universe. I didn’t want to jinx it.

My mother’s rings were still in my hand, and now I tried them on my right ring finger. They fit. That felt like a safe place to keep them for now. It was nice to have a little piece of her with me. Maybe she’d bring me some courage.

If only I knew what kind of courage I was going to need.