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My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out to see a text from the very friends I'm thinking about:

My fingers hover over the group chat. There's so much more I want to say, but writing it out won't even come close to expressing what I feel.

Mom stops at an intersection where seagulls weigh down the telephone wires. The hum of cars zooming across the freeway dulls out the sound of Adele singing over the radio. Then the light turns green, and Mom continues under the overpass.

Mavis pulls an AirPod from her ear. "I thought we were going through LA. Why are we heading to the beach?"

"I need to make one more stop," Mom answers.

Mavis doesn't ask any more questions. I keep my gaze locked on the view out the window. Shopping plazas morph into seaside mansions. The dark ocean plays peekaboo in between storefronts. Mom follows the curve of the road until the sidewalks and vegetation vanish. Now we're hugging the lip of a cliff that overlooks the Pacific. I know exactly where we're going long before Sunshine Cemetery appears.

The iron gates are opened wide like arms asking for a hug. Tombstones rise out of the ground in perfect rows as Mom drives us deeper inside. Saying goodbye to Dad should bring me comfort. It's been two years; I should've made peace with his passing by now, right? And yet my fingers fist the hem of my shirt.

Mom follows the pavement until it stops at a plot of grass and dandelions. A black fence separates the edge of the property from a sharp cliff sinking into the ocean. From here, clear skies and cold water stretch until they kiss at the horizon. Overhead, the roar of a plane vibrates the boxes inside the car. Is it a commercial jet landing at the airport? Or is it a naval aircraft flying drills? Dad always knew what model those planes were just by their silhouettes. And some part of me imagines he's the one who made the skies clear today so I can see the planes waving me goodbye.

I climb out of the car and slide my trembling fingers into my pockets. I can't stop staring at my shoelaces. I can't look at Dad's name carved in granite, knowing that although I've had two years to make good on the promise I made at his deathbed, somehow, I've done the complete opposite.

Mom and Mavis join my side silently, and I can only imagine what they're thinking. Mom is probably reminiscing about all the times Dad swept her off her feet. Mavis is probably remembering that time Dad stayed up until 3:00 a.m. to help her type a book report. And me&

I lift my gaze from the crunchy grass to Dad's tombstone.

"WE MUST FIRST BELIEVE IN OURSELVES BEFORE WE CAN BECOME OUR BEST SELVES."

Captain Roderick Carlson Beloved Husband and Father Rest in Peace

My vision swims as I read and reread the quote on Dad's headstone— his mantra. Dad was an Idaho potato farmer who believed he could conquer the sky. If someone like him could do something impossible, then his daughters should be able to do the same. The last words he said to me before slipping into a coma were "Promise me you'll become your true self."

But when he'd whispered that with dry, chapped lips, I hadn't been thinking about me. Every thought was about him. Was he going to pull through? Was he in pain? Why did this have to happen to him?

But now that he's been gone for two years, I'm realizing that I should've taken advantage of the time I had with him. I should've asked him about where I came from. I should've asked what he thought divorcing Ya-Fang would do to me. I should've asked how he expects me to be my true self when I don't even know who I am.

Hot tears stream down my face, and I wipe them with the back of my hand. I've let two years slide by, and I'm no closer to keeping Dad's promise than I was the day I sprinkled dirt over his coffin. Moving to Utah is the wake-up call I need. And when I come back to San Diego, I'll be the version of me he always knew I could be.

Family Portraits

I've had seven hundred and fifty miles to mentally prepare for this moment, and I'm still not ready to meet Aunt Joanna. We've slogged through the standstill traffic of Southern California, spent the night in the barren Nevada desert, and climbed over the winding mountains of Utah. Now, Mom's parking the Subaru on Aunt Joanna's power-washed driveway, and I have no choice but to stare at her mountainside manor.

Wood pillars hold up the house's stone frame, giving it the appearance of a celebrity ski lodge. But the bees buzzing around the flower garden also give this home a cozy cottage feel. I hate it.

"Three states, two days, and a partridge in a pear tree later, we've finally made it," Mavis grumbles from the passenger seat. "Hey, Catie. Wanna make a bet to see which one of us throws ourselves off a cliff first?"

"Mavis!" Mom exclaims before I can even gasp. "Do not ever speak like that again."