Page 22 of The Moment I Knew

“Okay,” I said.

The passenger door creaked when I opened it. I slid in and pulled my backpack onto my lap, resting my hands on it like an anchor. Like always, the car smelled of cigarettes and his aftershave, but there was also the softer citrus scent underneath it that I now knew to be Hilary’s perfume. I hate that I recognized it immediately and I hated even more the idea of her sitting here, in Mum’s spot.

I watched Dad as he twisted in his seat and reached into the back, rummaging around for longer than I thought would be necessary. He looked even more tired than when I’d seen him on Saturday—something I’d noticed every time I saw him. It was like his energy was being slowly depleted over time. I was convinced it was because Hilary was slowly draining him, but I didn’t know how to approach that with any form of sensitivity so I hadn’t mentioned it yet.

Clearly, my plan of getting him and Mum back together was not fully thought out.

“Okay,” he said finally. He straightened and set two boxes on the console between us, one big and one small. Both were white, immaculate, and sharp-edged.

My stomach dipped.

“For school,” he said immediately, the words tumbling over each other. He was nervous in a way I’d never seen him before. Then again, his presents had never needed to be a secret before now. “I know you’re doing more digital stuff now. Notes, assignments, all that. And your old tablet was ancient so…”

“It was from freshman year,” I mumbled. I eyed the bigger of the two boxes, which must have held the tablet he was referencing. He’d bought me my last one too, only two years ago now. Ainsley had gotten one at the same time. I wondered if he remembered. I wondered if it even occurred to him to buy her one too.

He waved that away. “Barely. And this’ll be way easier. You can write directly on it, highlight, organize. Your teachers will love it.”

I stared at the boxes. I didn’t touch them.

“It’s the latest one,” he added, like that explained everything. “And the Apple Pencil, obviously. You can’t really use it properly without the Pencil.”

I swallowed. “Mum would flip.”

He shrugged. “She doesn’t have to know about every little thing.”

He said it casually, like it was obvious, like we’d already established this rule together. Which, in a way, we had, though we’d never said it out loud. My heart pounded as I reached for the smaller box, turning it over in my hands. The plastic wrap was perfectly smooth, unbroken. No receipt taped to it. No gift bag. Just… dropped into my lap like it belonged there.

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to,” he replied, easy. “I don’t get to help with much anymore. Let me help with this.”

Help. That was the word he always used. Helping with school. Helping with lunch money. Helping by meeting me “real quick” so he could see me before the week got away from him. He never framed it as anything else.

I glanced at him. “You already help.”

He smiled at that, pleased. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You… you come. You listen.”

“Well,” he said, settling back into his seat, “that comes with the territory of being your dad.”

Something twisted in my chest at the way he said dad so easily. As if the title hadn’t been debated and dissected in our house for months. As if it hadn’t become something my siblings spat out like a curse word.

How was I going to explain to them where this came from?

I peeled at the edge of the plastic wrap on the Pencil box, pulling it off slowly. It was like I was trying to delay the inevitable of having to open the tablet box. Under any other circumstances, I’d be thrilled by the gift, but right now, a pool of guilt was building up inside me instead.

“I set up the iPad already,” Dad said. “Your school email, your calendar, the school portal. I figured it’d save you some time.”

Now opened, I set the Pencil in my lap and reached with shockingly shaking fingers for the other box. He watched me open it, his attention fixed, almost eager. The lid slid off smoothly, revealing the dark glass screen nestled inside. I lifted it out carefully, like it might break if I breathed wrong and turned it over to see the rose gold finishing on the back. It was exactly what I would have picked out for myself.

“I had to take a guess on the color, but Hilary thought you would like this one best.”

And just like that, I hated the color.

“You can use it for notes,” he continued, clearly not noticing how his mention of Hilary had soured my mood. “Or drawing. Didn’t you used to draw all the time? This’ll be good for that.”

I hadn’t drawn for years but I didn’t correct him on it.