The Beginning of After

was close enough to come home if I needed to but far enough to make me think twice about it. Cornell, which in the end was my choice, and not my father’s.
    “So, how soon can I come visit?” Meg asked now, her eyes still closed to the sun. “I hear Cornell guys are much hotter than Wesleyan guys.” She and Gavin had come to what we thought was a very wise “Let’s stay close but officially break up because we want to fool around with college people” decision.
    “Any time, you know that. You don’t even have to call first. Just show up at my dorm with a sleeping bag.”
    Meg smiled and then opened her eyes to look at me. She had to shield her face in a strange salute to do it. “I’ll take you up on that. I don’t want us to become one of those friendships that fizzles out after high school.”
    I lowered my sunglasses to look at her. “I don’t think that could possibly be possible even in the strangest depths of possibility. You know that, right?”
    “Yes,” said Meg, smiling. “I do know that.”
    We reached toward each other at the same exact moment—how often does that happen?—and hugged. I smelled her shampoo and the chocolate that still lingered on her breath. Or maybe it was mine. We’d just shared a Hershey bar as our good-bye feast.
    Meg’s parents’ divorce was happening, and everyone seemed okay with it now. Mrs. Dill was dating someone; Meg pretended it grossed her out, but I knew she was proud of her mother for getting out there. She’d started speaking to her dad again too—at my urging. They went out for dinner every week, and Meg would call me afterward and say something like, “I understand a little more about what happened there.”
    We didn’t compare the way we each had to mourn our families’ pasts. It wasn’t about one being better or worse than the other. We would always be different, but somehow we’d silently agreed to just be there for each other.
    “We should get going,” Meg said now, while we were still hugging. “Nana will be pacing around the house.”
    I nodded but didn’t let her go right away—just one more second—and then we headed back to her car with our sandwiches.
    To say the Volvo was packed would not be doing the situation justice. It was so jammed with stuff, with each box and bag and item fitted carefully together like a jigsaw puzzle, that I wasn’t convinced we’d be able to get anything out. It surprised me how many things I needed to start college with, and how many things from home I just had to have with me at school.
    I’d gotten good at sorting through all the stuff. On New Year’s Day, Nana had proposed that every weekend, we fill two boxes with items that belonged to my parents or Toby. Some boxes would go in the attic—things we wanted to keep or couldn’t make a decision about yet—and some would get donated to a charity that needed them. With each piece of clothing, each book, each souvenir pen or rain boot or tube of mascara, we tried to call up a memory to wrap it in. Every time I sealed up a box with clear plastic tape, I felt more free.
    Then it was my turn. Packing my life into boxes and labeling them, I realized that even though as a family we’d take yearly vacations, most of my stuff had never gone anywhere before. I was almost excited for the twenty pairs of shoes I was taking on their first real adventure.
    Meg pulled her car into my driveway, behind the Volvo, and looked at the wall of crap visible through the rear window.
    “Wow,” she just said. “You beat me.”
    We watched Nana open the front door and wave to us, then point to her watch.
    “Looks like your flight attendant is ready for takeoff,” said Meg.
    “Tray tables up and seat backs in the upright position,” I said, opening the car door. I waved my Village Deli bag at Nana. “All set!”
    All set. Like it was that simple. But then again, why couldn’t it be?
    I leaned back into the car. “Are you getting out?” I asked Meg.
    She shook her head. “I can’t stand long good-byes, you know that. We already had our paws all over each other. Consider yourself sent off.”
    “Fair enough,” I said.
    “So, adios ,” said Meg, biting her lip.
    “Hasta la vista.” I started to close the door, then stopped. “And oh, by the way. I love you.”
    Meg sniffled now, unable to hide her tears anymore. “I love you, too. Now get out of town.”
    She backed down the driveway and I watched her, not waving. When she was gone, Nana came out of