Grandma Mary was 79, and the doctors had already told us there was nothing more they could do. Hospice had been coming to the house for three weeks, and every afternoon I sat beside her bed, wondering how many conversations we still had left.
I spent most afternoons in Grandma’s room after school, sitting beside her bed while she drifted in and out of sleep. Sometimes she knew exactly who I was. Sometimes she thought I was my mother.
So no, I was not in the mood to care about prom.
I only even had a date because my best friend, Dane, had asked me in the least romantic way possible.
« You are not spending prom night in sweatpants watching crime documentaries, » he told me in the cafeteria.
« I absolutely am. »
He dropped into the seat across from me. « Then I am taking you against your will. »
« That is not how dates work. »
