It takes forever for Dad to get to the school. Before he does, Miss Reynolds brings me my backpack, the orange notebook, blue yarn, and broken knitting needles. I don’t want to think about any of that right now, so I stuff them down to the bottom of my backpack where I can’t see them anymore.
While I wait, I begin to wonder which Dad will pick me up. The Dad full of sunshine and music and ice-cream sundaes? Or the Dad from yesterday. The clock on the wall tick-tocks like a metronome.
The metronome clicked out the beat. Tap, tap, tap, tap. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and started playing. My left hand found the frets easily, sliding into the next chord and the next. I didn’t even need to look. I could just feel where to go.
Muscle memory. That’s what Mom called it.
But when it was time to play the F-major-7 chord, I stuck my tongue between my teeth, and smashed my fingers down as hard and tight as I could. The steel bit into my skin. I ran my right thumb over the strings as slowly as possible. Hoping and waiting for perfect.
And it happened. The most beautiful bar chord ever. Without a single mistake in it.
I stopped playing right there. “Dad, I did it! I did it! I played a bar chord.”
He was sitting on the edge of the black leather recliner, staring at the floor. He didn’t say anything.
“I’m a real guitar player now, Dad! Did you hear it?”
“Mmmmmm.”
Tap, tap, tap, tap go my knees. That won’t be the version of Dad who comes today. It can’t be. That Dad wouldn’t come to school.
And then I finally see him. His hair stands up on one side, but he came! That has to mean something. That has to mean he’s a little bit better. Dad pushes through the doors and walks right past me, up to Miss Williams. After signing some papers, he turns around and whispers, “Let’s go.”
I can’t help it. I run up and hug him right there. Last night, I thought I’d never see my dad again, and now he’s here.
“Okay.” He pats my head and then pushes me off, as if I’m the one who’s scraggly. Or maybe nobody’s hugged him in a long time, which makes me want to do it more. But I don’t.
We load into Dad’s small red hatchback. It’s dirty and stinky, too. But right that second, everything smells fresh to me. Like after a rainstorm. Like hope and answered prayers and new plants sprouting.
Dad starts the car and backs out of the parking space.
“I called your mom. She’s going to meet us at your house.”
Your house. Not our house. If you could fill balloons with hope and carry them around like a bouquet, then one of mine just popped.
“I need to … talk to her about something. Could you maybe stay in your room while I do?”
Talking could be good. That thought fills a new hope balloon as I steal Dad’s phone, sliding it off the console next to his seat and into my pocket.
When we pull into the driveway, I leap out of the car as fast as I can and run inside. Mom’s already home, and I have a secret plan. I learned a trick two years ago when Sofia’s cousin lived with her for a summer and we wanted to spy on her.
Mom always leaves her cell phone on the counter when she comes in. So I call Mom from Dad’s phone. Then, before it makes a sound, I answer her phone and mute Dad’s. I slide Mom’s phone toward the edge of the counter, near the kitchen table where she sits. I have a walkie-talkie and Mom has no idea.
Mom clasps a steaming purple mug in front of her and drums her fingers on it, the way she always does when she’s thinking. Seeing her makes all that anger from the principal’s office come back.
“You knew where he lived,” I say. “You knew this whole time.”
I thought maybe she’d try to lie or tell me I was wrong, but she just says, “Is he coming in?”
“He says he needs to talk to you. Probably about being lonely and sad because we never visited him.”
“Katydid—”
Dad walks in the door, and Mom shoots up out of her seat. “Tony.”
Dad acts like it isn’t his home anymore. Like he’s a guest waiting for someone to ask him inside. “Elizabeth.”
“Come in.”
That’s when Grammy walks out of Dad’s office. She’s lifting her gold bag over her shoulder when she sees him and gasps. “Tony?”
“Mom? What are you doing here?”
She rushes to Dad and hugs him. “I live here now. Isn’t that nice?”
Dad gives Grammy a short side hug before turning to Mom. “How long has she been here?”
“About a week and a half. She needed some help and—”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I’d grown so sick of Mom’s excuses for not calling Dad that I never thought to ask her if she’d told him about Grammy living with us.
I can’t believe I forgot.
Now that he’s standing here in the kitchen, filling up space and replacing memories with realness, all of my anger at her nos comes spilling out. “You haven’t told him yet?” I shout. “You wouldn’t even call him for that?”
Mom puts her hands out. “Whoa. I’m not the bad guy here.”
“I should have been part of this decision,” Dad says.
“Oh, Tony. Calm down,” says Grammy. “It’s a nice thing she’s doing, really. But I’ve missed you.”
And I know this is it. This is all Dad needs. Grammy’s here, and he’ll see how sick she is and realize she didn’t mean it when he asked to play a song with her and she sat at the piano, staring at the music and the keys before shouting, “This is ridiculous. I hate playing this song and I hate making music with you! Don’t ask me to do it again!”
Maybe she’ll even ask him to play a song with her tonight.
But that doesn’t happen.
Dad shakes his head and sidesteps Grammy. “I … I should have … I could have taken her. You didn’t have to do this.”
“I know I didn’t have to,” says Mom. “But family is family, and heaven knows you can barely take care of yourself.”
Dad’s face twists like Mom dropped a brick on his toe.
Grammy blinks. “Ouch, Liz.”
“I’m sorry,” says Mom, stepping away from the table. “You’re right. I should have involved you. But maybe we could discuss this … alone?”
Dad nods at me. “Katydid?” Then at Grammy. “Mom? Do you think we could get some privacy?”
I look from him to Mom, and I just know this is like one of those movies where everyone has a big fight and then everything gets patched up and goes back to happy. Things started off kind of shaky with the whole Grammy thing, but that only means we’re about to be a bigger family when it’s all done.
“Of course,” says Grammy. “In a jiffy.” She takes my hand and walks me back to my bedroom.
“He wants to talk!” I say as Grammy closes the door behind us. “That’s a good thing, right?”
She sits on my bed and pulls a skein of yarn from her bag. “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch, Kate.”
But it’s too late. I’ve already counted chickens and eggs, and my hopes are higher than a hot-air balloon. I pull the phone out of my pocket and wave it in the air. “I made a walkie-talkie. Want to listen?”
Grammy begins rolling her yarn into a ball. “Of course. Bring that little eavesdropping device right over here.”
I sit down next to her and put the phone on speaker, holding it a few inches from our faces as mom’s voice crackles out of it. “How have you been?”
“Fine.”
“Fine!” I whisper. “Do you hear that? He’s fine! That’s better than sad.”
“Sshhh!” says Grammy.
“You wanted to talk?” Mom asks.
A chair scrapes against the floor. Mom just sat down. Or Dad did. Maybe both. “Kate came to visit me yesterday.”
“I … I know.”
“Did you …”
“No, I didn’t tell her to. I didn’t even know until after.”
“Made me spaghetti sauce and sang to me …”
“Tony, I’m sorry. I told her you wanted to be alone.”
“No, it’s okay.”
I swing my feet in the air. “It’s the magic. It’s working.”
“It made me realize something … important.”
Grammy starts swinging her feet, too. “I think maybe you’re right.”
Dad’s coming back, I can tell. I’ve been waiting and dreaming and filling hope balloons just for this and here it is.
“I want a divorce.”
Divorce. It’s the ugliest word I’ve ever heard.
Just like that, my hope balloons all explode.
Grammy drops her yarn. “No, no, no. He doesn’t mean that.”
“What?” says Mom.
“Kate took care of me yesterday. She did a better job at being a parent in one hour than I’ve done my entire life. It’s time … you’re better off without … someone like me.”
“That’s not true. You know that’s not true. You are a wonderful—”
“If you would get some help. Just see someone. I know you’d feel better and you’d—”
“Why can’t you accept me the way I am?”
“Because this isn’t you. Tony, this is not the man I married.”
“Which is why I’m asking for the divorce.” A chair scrapes again, and I know he’s standing up. “I’ll send the papers.”
“Tony, it doesn’t have to be like this.”
“I’m sorry.”
I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can’t do anything but listen to Dad telling Mom I made him decide to leave us. Me! And spaghetti and singing. He doesn’t want to be my dad anymore.
“Did he really just say that?” I whisper to Grammy. “Divorce?”
“Oh, no,” she replies. “Oh, no, no, no. We must have heard wrong.”
“I don’t think so.”
I drop the phone and run out of the room. He’s not going to leave, disappearing without a goodbye. Not again. I’m not going to wake up tomorrow morning with everything changed and no dad like last time. I have to make him see, have to make him understand. I have to make him say goodbye.
But I’m too late. Dad’s already in his car and driving away. I look at Mom. She’s staring at the table like maybe Dad left a message on it.
“This is your fault!” I yell. “This is all your fault. He NEEDED us and you wouldn’t let us help. ‘No, no, no. Don’t get your hopes up!’ I hate you! I hate you!” I run back into my room and throw myself on the bed.
Grammy’s still sitting there, but her hands are filled up with yarn from the ball that she’s now unraveling. “Oh, it’s just not right. It’s not right. Look at this mess. I’m sorry, Kate. I made this huge mess.”
I can tell she’s lost. But I don’t help her. All I can do is curl up into a ball and remember. Why do I have to remember?
When Dad left the first time, I was awake. I could hear Mom and Dad in the hallway.
“At least say goodbye,” Mom said.
“What good will that do?”
“You’re going to break her heart.”
There was a pause and a sigh. “She’s sleeping.” His footsteps clomped to the door. It opened. His car started. He drove away.
I used to think if I’d known that was the last time I’d see Dad, I would have chased after his car. I’ve dreamed about it hundreds of times. Running after him down the road, right past Mr. Harris’s almond trees. They were filled up with nuts and leaves then. I would have run all the way to the end of the trees. And Dad would’ve stopped and turned around, because you can’t ignore someone who runs through an entire orchard for you. You just can’t.