The Beginning of After

softly.
    “Yeah?”
    “Aren’t you going to ask me how I did?” Her voice got high.
    “God, I’m sorry. How did you do?”
    “I kicked butt too.” Another pause. “I’ve got to go. We’ll celebrate after school today.”
    We hung up, and almost instantly my speeding, soaring sensation— festal : meaning “joyous”!—hit a brick wall.
    Dad.
    He would have been standing here. Maybe he would have been the one to jiggle me awake just past dawn. He would have given me a high five and a hug, his customary “I’m so proud of you, kiddo” combo, proclaiming that all my studying, the prep course, him quizzing me—it had all been worth it.
    The image filled me with instant agony. Make him go away. Don’t ruin this, don’t ruin this, don’t ruin this.
    And with that, my father was gone.
    When I walked into the house after school that day, I expected to find Nana making dinner. But it was quiet, and I followed that quiet upstairs to find the door to the guest room closed. I stepped closer to knock, but heard something soft and muffled on the other side. It sounded like one of the animals we sometimes heard in the woods at night.
    It wasn’t an animal. It was my grandmother, crying.
    I jumped back, ran down to the kitchen. How long had she been doing that, while I was at Meg’s, trying on our dresses and experimenting with hairstyles, snacking on Oreos and diet soda? I wondered how often she did that while I was at school, and then I stopped that wondering as quickly as I could.
    There was no room in my head for the thought of Nana losing it. I needed her strong and wise and stoic. I needed her to remind me that my life could work, because her life seemed to be working.
    I needed her to not need anything from me, because I had nothing to give.
    Still, I found myself turning to go back upstairs, prepared to knock and see if she was okay, when the phone rang. I dove to get it so that Nana wouldn’t be disturbed. “Hello?”
    “Hello . . . Is this Laurel?”
    “Yes?”
    “Laurel, it’s Suzie Sirico.” She said it like we’d been chatting every day, the best of friends. Way too bubbly.
    “Oh. Hi.”
    “I just thought I’d call and see how you and your grandmother were doing.”
    “We’re okay,” I said. “Busy.” I really am busy , I added to myself. I have new friends and I’m going to the prom with Joe Lasky in an awesome dress!
    I glanced up at the stairs, where I now heard the door to the guest room creaking slowly open. I pictured Nana on the landing, listening to try to figure out who I was talking to.
    “I want to make sure you have my number if you need it.” Suzie’s voice, so steady and sure of itself, was possibly the most annoying thing I’d ever heard.
    Was this how people in her line of work were supposed to drum up new business? God, she was no better than a telemarketer.
    “We have your number,” I said, not sure if that was true. “Thanks for calling.”
    I hung up as Nana came into the room. Her face was freshly washed but her eyes tired, unfocused.
    “Was that Suzie Sirico?” she asked.
    “Yes,” I said. “I have to get started on some homework.” With that I brushed past her, knowing I should stay and chat or help her cook dinner, but unable to make myself turn back.

Chapter Nine

    T he limo driver’s name was Manny, and he did crossword puzzles while waiting for people to be done with their weddings or finally arrive on late flights at the airport. He had a wife and a baby, and his sweet ’78 Mustang was just back from the shop.
    We learned these things about him during the ten-minute drive from Meg’s house to the Hilton. It was easier to talk to Manny, through the open smoked-glass window dividing the front seat from the rest of the car, than make conversation with one another. I sat with Meg in the way-back, Joe and Gavin facing us. Gavin had a line of perspiration beading across his upper lip. He’d wipe it away, then two minutes later it was back.
    “The Sweat Mustache,” whispered Meg, her breath minty against the side of my face.
    Joe playfully kicked my foot, which was dressed in one of Nana’s black satin pumps and looked unattached to my body. I kicked back and smiled. Other than a light arm around my shoulder when we were posing for pictures, it was the first time we’d touched all evening.
    At three, Meg and I had had our hair done at the Cosmos Salon. Hers: an updo with lots of curls. Mine: all down and straight. I got it trimmed a