37 Things I Love (In No Particular Order) by Kekla Magoon

rooms, doctors, Mom crying, Mom crying, Mom crying, until one day she stopped. That was when it started. Honey, it’s time to let go. But she promised, promised it wouldn’t happen unless we were both ready. And a little while after that, she stopped saying “if” and started saying “when.”
    “What?” I repeat. I’m starting to feel like what happened to our friendship might have been my fault. I was distracted, by Dad. By everything that was going on. I was trying so hard to keep him that I didn’t much care about keeping anyone else. After the past few days, though, it seems unthinkable that I came out of that summer still close with Abby but not Cara.
    “I wanted to stay friends,” she whispers. I almost don’t hear, but the tiny waves catch her voice, carry it to me.
    Oh.
    “Did we ditch you?” I say, tackling the awkwardness head on. Screw it. I’m trying a new tack. It’s not like things have been going so great for me in the status quo.
    Silence.
    “Not really you,” Cara says. “Well—”
    I’m embarrassed. I can’t remember what happened. Abby must’ve decided she was done with Cara and moved on. And I just let it happen. Maybe it’s that simple. And why shouldn’t it be? Abby calls the shots. That’s just how it is.
    “Me by extension?” I say.
    “Yeah.” She seems reluctant to say it.
    “We can be honest, right?” Like it’s so easy.
    “Yeah.” More enthusiasm that time.
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Thanks.”
    She strokes the water until our rafts drift side by side, and we are head to toe. We look at each other from behind the bug-eyed shades and smile.
    “I’m sorry,” I say again, but the words rise from a deeper level this time. How different might everything be if we had stayed friends? I get a shiver. We both would have slightly different memories, slightly different lives.
    “Everything’s easy with you,” I say.
    Cara smiles underneath her shades. “You too,” she says, reaching for my hand.
    I remember things about our friendship. It was back when I was happy. Sleepovers. Trips to the park. Then I got older, things happened, less happy, and she faded.
    Slightly different memories. Slightly different lives. I feel a little jolt. What if the difference it made wasn’t slight? One thing changes, everything changes. Isn’t that how it goes? We all would have walked different roads. Been in different places at different times.
    What if Dad had dropped me off to play at Cara’s instead of Abby’s on his way to work that day? He gets to work ten minutes later. He walks a different beam, one where the fall is only one story. He breaks his leg. Both legs. He breaks his neck, too, and is paralyzed for life, and we all think it’s the end of the world, but everything is relative.
    I squeeze Cara’s hand tighter. I don’t think that. Not really. Maybe nothing so small could have saved Dad. Maybe it was only a matter of time before fate stole him from us, and—just to make matters worse—left us with the cruel task of accepting or rejecting the decree. Except there’s no hiding from fate. I know that. I know that. I squeeze tighter still.
    Cara turns her head lazily on the air mat. Her thumb moves against my skin. “You okay?”
    “Just don’t let go,” I say.
    *   *   *
    THE AFTERNOON is perfection. We drift back and forth, fingers entwined, until the sky grays over in a matter of minutes and the air brushing over our wet skin turns us cold.
    I lift my shades and stare at the green tree tips brushing the pale sky overhead, not hard enough to scratch away the bunching clouds.
    “It’s gonna rain.”
    “Yeah.”
    The air, now muggy and still, promises a summer shower to break the heat of the day. We paddle to the edge and roll from the rafts onto the concrete rim of the pool, trying to avoid a full resubmerge.
    We stow the rafts in the pool house, which is really just a tiny shed where the chlorine level is regulated, and run inside.
    We retreat to Cara’s