“You either need way more streamers or none at all,” said Koula. She lay on the couch. Pippi Longstocking was on her chest, purring loudly.

I was on a stepladder, trying to tape streamers to the ceiling. “It might look better if I had some help.”

She didn’t budge. “I feel I’m best in a supervisory role.”

My parents’ anniversary wasn’t for four more days, but I was surprising them early. At first I’d had more than enough helpers, but they’d dropped out one by one. Ivan’s dad had offered to take him go-karting, which was a huge breakthrough. “We haven’t done anything fun together since Mom died,” Ivan told us. Jacob’s parents had surprised him with a ski weekend in Whistler. And Alonzo had recently met a boy in his movement class; he bailed at the last minute to spend the day with him.

“Do you actually make out?” Koula had asked him the day before at YART. “Or do you just mime making out?” Her bitterness was putting a strain on their friendship.

So it was just me and Koula. It was the first time she’d been to my house. I’d been worried she’d make fun of all the cats. But she loved them, especially Pippi. “Look at her,” she said now as Pippi kneaded her paws into Koula’s chest. “She loves me!” She talked to the cat in a baby voice. “Who’s da pwetty kitty? Who’s da pwetty kitty?”

I gave up on the streamers and ran into the kitchen to check on the cake.

I’d gotten my parents out of the house with a gift certificate for a couple’s massage at a downtown spa. It had cost a small fortune, emptying what was left of my bank account. But it was worth it.

When I came back into the living room, Koula was rubbing noses with Pippi. “So,” she said. “Are you and Jacob…” She made an obscene gesture with her hands.

“That is really none of your business.”

“So, yes.”

I didn’t answer.

“Whatever. If you are, I’m going to assume it’s nice. For both of you. Doing it with someone you actually, you know, care about.”

“So, you’ve…?”

“Sure. Couple I remember. Couple I don’t.”

“That sucks, Koula.”

“Yeah. Well.” She rubbed Pippi’s belly. “Anyway. I’m glad for you. Jacob’s a good guy. Even if he is kind of mysterious.”

“What do you mean?”

“He never talks about his own crap. You know, his dead friends and everything.”

I shrugged. “We all deal with things in different ways.”

“Yeah, but we’ve told him a ton. He hasn’t told us much at all. It’s like we’ve peeled back all our layers, and he’s only peeled back maybe one.”

“I think that’s your soap operas talking,” I said. I knew Koula watched at least three of them religiously.

Pippi batted at Koula’s nose, trying to get her attention. “You is such a silly kitty,” Koula said in her baby voice.

A thought struck me. “Does your dad like cats?”

“He’s indifferent. Why?”

“Mom’s trying to find a forever home for Pippi.”

“Are you serious?”

“Very. You’d be doing us a huge favor. It would be the ultimate anniversary gift.”

“I’ll totally take her! But just a heads-up: I’m changing her name.” Koula looked at Pippi. “From now on, you’re Lorena Bobbitt.”

“Who’s Lorena Bobbitt?”

Koula punched the name into Google on her phone and handed it to me.

“Oh, Koula,” I said.

She cackled.

—

I’d rented a helium tank for the afternoon, and Koula finally got off her butt to help with the balloons. Except she kept taking small sips of helium. “Do you think your sponsor would approve?” I asked.

“Who cares? This is so much fun!” She sounded like Alvin the Chipmunk.

At four p.m. I took the cake out of the oven. Then I got supper started. I was keeping it simple with a three-step lasagna and salad.

My parents weren’t due home for at least another hour. I’d told them I’d be out when they got back. The plan was that I would greet them with a candlelit room and a glass of wine. Then I would show them the video I had made for YART. Afterward I would serve dinner and leave. Koula had said she’d hang around downtown so we could go see a movie. My parents would have the apartment to themselves for the rest of the night.

So I was startled when I heard a key in the lock.

Koula and I were in the kitchen, where I was icing the cake. Koula, who’d just taken another sip of helium, squeaked, “Hide!” She slid the door closed.

“I just wanted to have a relaxing cup of tea after the massage,” I heard Dad say. “But you had to ruin it by dredging things up—”

“How is it dredging things up to talk about our daughter?”

“You do it all the time.”

“I don’t do it all the time! You make me feel like I can’t. It’s awful, not being able to talk about Maxine when I want to.”

“I’m sorry. But you have to respect my way of dealing with things—”

“Which is to act like she didn’t exist—”

“She does exist!” Dad was shouting. “She exists in every breath I take. Every moment I mourn for her, but I just don’t need to talk about her all the goddamn time!” Suddenly there was a screech from one of the cats; he must have stepped on a tail. “Jesus Christ, are you even trying to get these goddamn cats adopted?”

Koula stared at me, wide-eyed.

“Oh God,” my mom said, and I knew they’d stepped into the balloon-strewn living room.

A moment later Dad opened the kitchen door. “Happy anniversary!” Koula squeaked in her helium voice.

—

“Hey, I’m Koula, really great to meet you both,” Koula said as she slipped past my stricken parents. She grabbed her Doc Martens from the foyer. “I’m, uh, I’ll just put these on in the hall.” To me, she said, “How’s about I pick up Lorena next weekend?” She slipped out of the apartment, closing the door behind her.

My parents looked ashen. They apologized. I tried my best to regroup. I poured them each a glass of wine and made them sit on the couch. I hooked up Mom’s laptop to the TV and put in the USB stick Jacob had given me the night before. “I have a special present for you.”

My idea had kept us busy at YART for quite a while. I’d pulled boxes of photos and old videos from our storage locker and the five of us had divvied up the work, watching hours of footage and sifting through hundreds of photos, marking the best. Jacob had painstakingly edited the video and added music.

But even as the opening frames came up, I felt an impending sense of doom.

It was ten minutes long. The first part, set to “I’m a Believer,” by the Monkees, was a series of pictures and videos that told the story of how my parents had met. It included footage from university and trips they’d taken, like hiking in the Andes and trekking in Nepal. The second part, set to “Chapel of Love” by the Dixie Cups, had footage from their wedding day and their honeymoon in Nicaragua.

The last part, set to “Our House,” by Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, was about their growing family. It showed Mom nursing me, Dad giving me a bottle, my first steps. School concerts, the three of us skating at Robson Square.

But the bulk of the last segment was about Maxine. At the playground, opening presents on Christmas morning, playing at the beach.

When it was over we were all crying, even my dad.

“That was beautiful, Petula,” Mom said.

“I wanted to show you that you’ve had a really good life together,” I said.

They glanced at each other.

“What?”

“We were waiting for a good time to tell you,” Dad said.

The dread I’d been feeling since they first walked through the door grew to soccer-ball size in my stomach.

“Your mom and I decided a while back to have a trial separation,” Dad said.

“Trial,” Mom added. “Nothing set in stone.”

“That’s right. This isn’t a divorce. It’s a break.”

I didn’t stick around to hear any more.

—

I fast-walked down the street and didn’t even realize till I was two blocks away that not only had I forgotten my rape whistle, I’d just crossed at a crosswalk without looking left or right. That’s how mad I was.

I was furious with them but also with myself. You’ve been slacking off around the house for weeks! If only you’d stayed vigilant!

“Petula!” Dad’s voice. I picked up my pace. But Dad is a runner, and he easily caught up with me. He put a hand on my arm.

I turned around and punched him as hard as I could in the chest. My keys were between my knuckles, so it hurt. “Ow!”

I punched him again before he grabbed my hand, forced open my fingers, and took the keys. “Stop it. Just stop.” He held my wrists so I wouldn’t hit him again. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way. But, Petula, it’s been a long time coming. We’ve been trying to make this work for a while.”

“Have you? Have you really?”

“Yes. We have.”

“How, exactly? How, exactly, have you tried? By never being home? By spending evenings and weekends at the office?” I was so mad, I was shaking.

“I did my best. We did our best. That’s why we started seeing the marriage counselor.” He let go of my wrists and looked up at the night sky. “You have to believe me when I say that neither of us wanted this to happen. We held on for as long as we could.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry, said my inner voice.

I started to cry. “I tried so hard to make things work.”

“Sweetheart. Why should you try to make our marriage work?”

“Because it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t made that stupid wolf suit, we’d be fine, everything would be fine—”

Dad gripped my shoulders. “Listen to me. Are you listening? You are not responsible for Maxine’s death, or the state of our marriage. Do you understand?” He shook me a little too hard. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your mom and I were supposed to take Maxine to the new Pixar movie that day. Remember? Instead I saw an ad in the newspaper for a sale at Skip to My Loo, the bath shop. I told Maxine we’d take her another day. When we left the house, she was so upset. That was the last time I saw her alive.” Now my dad was crying, too. “A new shower curtain and towels. That was my priority. I think about that every day.”

I hadn’t remembered any of this. “Dad, that’s ridiculous. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know. On good days, I know. But, Petula, the same holds true for you. You have to believe me when I say it wasn’t your fault, either. We’ve never blamed you.”

That just made me cry even harder.

A couple walking by with their dog stared at us, trying to gauge if I was in any sort of trouble. “Keep walking!” I shouted.

“I’ve been a lousy father to you since Maxine died. I know that.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“I’m going to try to do better from now on.”

“By leaving?”

“Crazy as it sounds, yes. I think your mother and I might do better if we’re apart.”

“You used to love each other so much.”

“We still do. But we can’t look at each other without remembering, without feeling this tremendous weight of sadness.”

“You might be just as sad apart.”

“Yes.”

“Or sadder.”

“Yes. But that’s something we need to find out.” Then Dad did something he hadn’t done in a long time.

He pulled me into a hug and held me tight. “You’re the reason we stuck it out for as long as we did, sweetie. You’re the reason we almost made it to twenty.”