24.

The thought of leaving home did not come without guilt. I knew that once I moved away, it would just be my father and the balloons. Steph and Caroline had brought some home years earlier for his birthday, and afterward, he and I had let those balloons bob in the corner of the family room. They eventually gravitated toward the fireplace on the back wall. Simple physics probably explained why the balloons began to list: air from the chimney had created a vacuum, maybe. But I was never good at physics, and had to read my textbook many times over to understand the most basic problems. Instead, I preferred to imagine there was some spirit clenching the strings in her fists. Slowly tugging them closer. You, with your face locked in concentration.

I shouldn’t have to do this, you seemed to say. Why am I the one doing this? Your shoulders slouched in defeat.

As the balloons shriveled, they came to their own resting spots at the base of the fireplace, folded gently over the tin box of Jonathan’s ashes to make a shiny, crinkled blanket. As if you had wanted the remnants of our birthday celebrations to keep your dead son warm. As if you understood we had forgotten, or were close to forgetting, what you had asked. But a lethargy had settled into our remaining family, and the wilted balloon only obscured Jonathan from our sights. Together, they would linger as my father’s companions.