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The first missed call was from Dad almost an hour ago. I couldn’t believe Henry and I had been fighting for that long. Then, a text from him saying that my voicemail was full, but to call him back because he was at Jewel-Osco and had a question about the grocery list. The other nine missed calls were from my mom.

When I called her back, she was crying hysterically. She told me that my dad had an “episode.” I’ll never forget that word—episode. He was at the supermarket and they didn’t know what happened. We’d later learn that it was his heart. Dad was gone before he even got to the hospital. My mind went silent in that moment. I don’t remember where she was, all I know is that she was asking if I was somewhere safe, and if I could find someone to pick up Hannah from dance practice.

“I can get her,” I remember Henry saying.

I guess the call had been put on speaker at some point. I guess he had sat me down on the edge of his bed. I guess he had brought me some water. I tried to take a sip but my hand was shaking so much that I spilled all over the carpet. Henry just shook his head, telling me it didn’t matter.

He took the glass from my hands, and I think he tried to embrace me, comfort me, but I didn’t want that. I stood up and flew down the stairs, shoving my feet back into my wet boots and not even bothering with my coat. I burst outside, needing more air. The rain had stopped, and I remember thinking that it was a cruel joke that there was a rainbow in the sky at a time like this. Henry unlocked the car and we both got in.

As Henry began to drive the familiar route to the dance studio to pick Hannah up from her tap class, he must have started and stopped fifteen different sentences. I stared out the window, unable to process whatever he was trying to say. What if I’d answered my dad’s call? What if my voicemail hadn’t been full? I didn’t even know the last thing I said to him. It must have been days ago, when we were leaving for the trip. Was it I love you? Why couldn’t I remember?

“Norah,” Henry said finally, when we were at a red light. His voice was softer than I’d ever heard it. “I know there’s nothing I can say right now to make it hurt less, but I hope you know that I’m here for you. Let’s just forget everything from this afternoon and—”

“No.” I heard the ice in my own voice. “If I’d answered his call, I would have gotten to talk to him one last time. I would have had that.”

Henry let out a slow exhale. “Nor.”

“You took that from me,” I said quietly. “I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for that.”

I couldn’t look at him directly, but I saw him nod out of the corner of my eye. I felt him shut down entirely.

This became our new normal for the remainder of our senior year. We could only cause each other hurt, so soon enough, we avoided each other altogether. In one afternoon, I lost my dad and the person I thought knew me best for the last fourteen years. My first friend. My first crush. My first heartbreak.

Henry could never want me. I don’t know what I’d been thinking. Then, or truly, now. This was all a fluke. Just snow, and proximity, and wine, and hormones. That was the only explanation.

* * *

I wake up with a start, not sure when or how I had possibly dozed off. In the night, we’d both turned in toward each other. Henry stirs next to me, his dark hair tousled in the most infuriating way. His eyes blink open at me, and his face floods with what I can only describe as…soft affection? He blinks a few more times and it settles into a smirk. I think he hopes I didn’t see that first emotion before he put his walls back up.

Or maybe I’m wrong because then he says, “Norah,” and I feel it all the way down to my toes.

“You were in my dream last night,” he tells me fondly. “Only it wasn’t you-you, it was teenage us.”

I don’t give him the satisfaction of admitting that my subconscious took me to the same time and place, albeit decidedly less tender versions of him and me.

“Why do we have to dredge up the past?” I ask softly. “Haven’t we put each other through enough?”

He shifts slightly, an arm under his head to prop himself up a little.

“Norah—”

“Please, can’t you just let it be?” I roll onto my back, not able to say this part to his face because I don’t even know if it’s true. I just want this conversation to be over. “Fine, I forgive you for the missed call or whatever. Happy?”

“Norah.”

I get up out of the bed. Everything about this moment is far too intimate to be lying next to each other for a second longer.

“Norah,” he repeats with urgency. “Say you mean that. Say it.”

I hear the bed creak. He comes toward me, standing so close, but hesitant to touch me again. It makes sense given what happened last night, but the way he’s looking at me, with regret, with understanding, with need, I almost wish he would.

“Do you really forgive me? Please. Say yes.” It’s a whisper right next to my ear, his warm breath on the nape of my neck, waking up every particle of my body.

I turn my head to look up at Henry, his face lingering for an extra moment near mine.

“Please.” There’s stern desperation in his voice that tilts my heart into something raw, and maybe even a little healed.

I nod because in that moment, it’s true. I do forgive him. He sucks in a harsh breath, and I can tell he’s watching my pulse flutter under his stare.