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I slide myself onto the pink counter, next to the hand lotion dispenser covered in a knit cozy and the shell-shaped pastel soap.

Damn.

I came here to be celebrated (and okay, celebrate Wally too)—not to feel all these feelings I’ve been trying to push down all week. Not to be out here questioning whether love is real.

My parents are in love. I know that from the way they look at each other, all googly-eyed like they just met even after twenty-five years, and also the fact that they still get it on. Etta, seven years my junior, made that way too disgustingly clear.

The thing that Mom and Dad have, that Grandma Lenore and Grandpa John had before he passed. I don’t think that exists anymore. Well, maybe for Tessa-and-Sam and Theo-and-Lavon. But then again, who knows what will happen to them in college? Maybe that makes me a bitch to think that, but I thought Wally and Kieran would last. I was sure Marcus and I would be together forever and now he’s showing up to my graduation party with his arm wrapped around a girl with a stupid name like Tapatha. I even dreamed about Jay a little bit.... So, obviously my judgment isn’t great.

I really think there are no one true loves or great, sweeping romances anymore. Maybe you just get to find someone who is good enough.

But why can’t I even do that?

Someone bangs on the door, jolting me out of my thoughts.

“Lenore!” Jerry yells. “Listen, I, too, know the pure joy of taking a big-ass dump in the middle of the day, but you gotta line out here!”

I jump off the counter, feeling my neck warm up. I don’t need him out here hollering about my bowel movements.

I open the door, and he throws his hands up. “There we go! Girl, what you need? Some Imodium? Some Lactaid? Pepto?”

“You play too much,” I say, swatting his stomach, but I can’t help but laugh as he pushes past into the bathroom, pointedly flicking the fan on before he shuts the door.

The laugh dies, though, when I see who’s standing behind him. Shit.

Marcus just half smiles and waves, but Tapatha pounces on me like an overactive Chihuahua.

“Lenore! Hi! We haven’t met yet, but I feel like I already know you! I love your jumpsuit. You have such unique style!”

“Thank you! I like your purse!” I say, pasting on my best fake smile. I don’t really, but that’s just what you say.

“Just so you know,” Marcus says, taking a tentative step toward me with his right palm up, like I’m some unpredictable animal they’ve encountered in the wild. I hate it. “We’re here because my grandma needed a ride. I don’t know if you, like, heard, but they took away her license last month when she parked her car about a centimeter away from her beauty shop’s window.” He laughs. That same warm, rumbly one I know so well that stirs something in my stomach. I hate that too. “Anyway, I wanted you to know, so we don’t have to make this weird.”

Weird. Just like Jay.Don’t make this weird.Why is everyone so concerned with things being weird? As if their comfort is all that matters and me feeling anything istoo much. And lord knows, I felt EVERYTHING when I was with him. I was stupid. I showed too much emotion—even more after he broke up with me and I tried to convince him he was making a mistake, that it was true love. Meant to be. That’s why I scared him away. I was weird.

My insides are swimming, and I get the irritating tight feeling in my throat that I know is warning me of even more irritating displays of emotion on their way if I don’t get ittogether. “Yeah, of course,” I say. “That was forever ago, Marcus.” I laugh, and it sounds hollow. But I know they won’t be able to tell the difference.

“Oh, you two!” Tapatha cuts in, laughing too. Except her laugh is practically at a pitch that only dogs can hear and makes me want to claw out my eardrums. “It’s so nice of you to be so considerate of each other over this little thing you had when you were basically kids. I love it!”

We weren’t kids. We were having sex and planning our future kids’ names, but go off.

“So, I heard you’re going to NYU,” Tapatha continues. “Marcus and I are going to Spelman and Morehouse. We’re going to live in the dorms freshman year, but we’re talking about getting an apartment later. Don’t tell his grandma, though, because she would just die!” She slaps Marcus’s shoulder and lets out another brain-scrambling laugh. “Now, are you scared to live in New York? I saw a video on Instagram of this rat—”

“Pretty girl, can I steal you for a minute?” Grandma Lenore swoops in like some jewel-toned-wearing dental assistant onThe Bachelor.

“Oh, yes, please,” I say, clutching her arm and letting her steer me away from my worst nightmare of a conversation. “Bye! So nice chatting!” I call behind me, and Grandma Lenore joins in with, “You have a blessed day now.” Which basically means “fuck you” in respectable granny language. I want to cheer.

We walk into her formal living room and sit down on her fancy couch, the crinkly plastic cover sticking to my bare arms.She leans in close to me, her spiky hair of the day tickling my cheek, and she takes my hand. Her skin feels soft and delicate like tracing paper.

“Now, you know that grandmoms don’t have favorites,” she says, her dark eyes sparkly with mischief. “I love you and Wallace and Etta all the same. But you’ve always been my special girl.”

“I know, Grandma.” I smile. She’s the one person I’ve always been not only enough for, butjust rightfor.

“And because of that,” she continues, “I had to get you a special gift for this day. Now, I’ve seen all those honor classes you been taking, and you working so hard. And not just anyone would be brave enough to move clear across the country for school, especially to a school that’s as big of a deal as I hear this one is. I want to make sure you know how proud I am of you, so I got you something.”

The mention of how far NYU is, of leaving, makes me feel almost as sick as seeing Marcus and Tapatha did, but I push that feeling down and focus on the good feelings rising up.

“Grandma, you didn’t have to get me a present to show me you’re proud. This party is more than enough.”