"The back windows are tinted, Paris," Lillian tells me. "You don't need a disguise."

I sink deeper into my seat, adjusting my sunglasses and hat—despite it being pitch black outside.

I'm sitting in the backseat of Lillian's dad's car who—if it's even possible—is even nicer than Lillian, although less apologetic and more laid back. Makes me wonder what her mom is like.

"But what if someone has glasses that can see through tinted car windows?" I question in a loud whisper.

If you want the advice of an old man like me," Lillian's dad begins.

Honestly, he didn't look old at all. Maybe like thirty or something. But I don't argue and just let him continue.

"I would let jerks be jerks. They don't know the difference between their butts and their face. But you know what I've learned in my fifty years of living?"

He's fifty?

"No one should give a flying fart in space what other birdbrains think of them. Ever wondered how famous people get famous? Or presidents become presidents? Or anyone become anything? Anything impressive that is, not like a robber or something." He winks through the rear-view mirror. "It's because they decided to prove everyone wrong. They didn't give up because people laughed at them. They knew what a delicious feeling it is to be right in the end. I shocked my entire family when I decided to become a doctor. They told me 'to Antarctica with that' when I first told them. Now look at me. I've been practicing medicine for over ten years. If you don't get my meaning, then think of it this way. Thousands of people are watching your video and thinking 'failure'. You know what you should be thinking? 'Winner'. Winner winner, chicken dinner. Then you can laugh right back. You get what I'm putting down?"

Ｆａｉｌｕｒｅ

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭

Ｆａｉｌｕｒｅ

𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩

I blink behind my sunglasses. I feel a bit surprised at his words.

Can I do that?

Can I decide to prove everyone wrong?

"But what if they're right?" I ask softly. "What if no matter how hard I try, in the end, she's—they're always right?"

He ignores my slip and answers, "Well then you keep on trying."

"And when I fail?"

"You can't fail forever, kid. Unless you never try. Then your failure is more than guaranteed."

"How do I try? What do I do? I don't even know where to start."

"Start with keeping your head up high. And remove that ridiculous disguise. You shouldn't be ashamed of who you are."

———————

We arrive at Lillian's house within minutes. She has a humble home, a perfect size for her and her parents. When we go inside, I notice the homey decor and the warm smell circulating through the air.

"I started some cookies before we left," Lillian explains. "I hope you like chocolate chip."

"It's a classic," I reply, following her to the kitchen. The timer on the oven tucked into a corner of the kitchen has just a few minutes left. Lillian walks over to it and peers inside.

"Seems as though we made it just in time!" she exclaims with a grin. "They're the best straight out of the oven."

"Is your mom home? Does she mind me coming over unexpectedly like this?" I think back to how my own mom reacts to company. She usually doesn't like people coming with only a minute's warning. Surprise visits aren't really her favorite.

Complete silence falls over the room. I stare at Lillian's back in confusion. "Lillian?"

"She's gone."

"Gone? At work or something?"

"No," Lillian returns. "She died shortly after I was born."

Lillian didn't have a mom?

But she was always so kind. She never went a minute without smiling.

I can't even imagine how it must feel to...

"All I know about her are the stories my dad used to tell me. And of course, I've seen every picture he owns of her. She was beautiful. But you would know just hearing my dad talk about her." She reaches over to grab a mitten laid across the counter. "Now let's get these yummies out." She rubs her hand against her mitten-covered one and then turns to give me the biggest smile. "I don't want to be sad tonight, 'kay? Promise me you'll smile so much your cheeks will be sore tomorrow."

As if to swear I will, I give her the biggest smile I can make. "Cookies, popcorn, and ice cream make it impossible not to."

Within minutes, all the cookies are gone, and we wait not-so-patiently for the next batch.

"We should probably save room for popcorn and ice cream," I say while reaching over to grab a crumb that fell on the counter.

"Yeah, probably..." Lillian replies.

But when the next batch comes out, we burn our tongues with every last one.

"We're such pigs," Lillian says through mouthfuls.

"Yeah."

"We're going to be sick."

"Probably."

"We don't really care."

"Definitely not."

"You should care," a voice says from behind me. "Because for every cookie you had, you need to eat ten pieces of broccoli."

I turn to see Lillian's dad leaning against the wall at the opening to the kitchen.

"Come on, Dad!" Lillian whines, folding her arms and pouting. "We won't die from one night of crazy eating."

"True. Unless the broccoli found out. But we'll keep this secret between us. As long as you let me have a few of your cookies." He gives a dramatic wink.

"It's a deal," Lillian replies.

They grin at each other.

"You know," Lillian's dad says as he holds up the last cookie in the batch. "Your mother used to make cookies like this. Yours are just as good as hers were."

Something flashes on Lillian's face. But only for a moment.

While I take out the cookies, Lillian starts the popcorn. I breathe in the smell of the popping popcorn and relish the moment, making sure it's a memory I'll never forget. Chatting away about anything, everything, nothing, laughing at the lamest of jokes, and just watching the smiles catch fire. No one in the world could be in that room at that moment with a frown on their face.

Soon all the cookies and several bags of popcorn are finished, and Lillian suggests we watch a movie in her room. "Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about the ice cream either," she says with a wink.

Her room is surprisingly...pink. I don't think I've ever seen so much pink in one spot before.

"Sorry about the mess," she says, kicking a box out of the way. "We recently moved here actually. Since we had a lot of debt, we've only been able to rent until now."

"Debt?" I didn't want to pry, but curiosity is getting the best of me.

"My mom had cancer and the treatment was really expensive. My dad went back to school to study medicine and that wasn't cheap either—" She stops suddenly. "I didn't mean to bring the mood down again or anything, she just kinda comes up a lot. In my head, I mean. It feels like everything triggers her memory, even though I only knew her a few months when I was a newborn. Hardly anyone remembers memories from that young. I don't know why I do...I'm just ranting now, I'm sorry. Let's just watch the movie now."

I stare for a minute, watching her as she scrambles about, searching for the remote.

"Do you blame yourself?" I ask suddenly.

"I'm sorry?"

"For your mother's death."

"Do I..." She pauses, her hands floating above her simple white desk. I step forward and notice that they tremble slightly. "What makes you say that?"

"You apologize a lot," I say, coming over to stand beside her. "You always talk about her and then regret it like all you remember of her is sadness. You act like you don't really have the right to speak of her aloud without feeling guilty or apologizing. You said you had some memories of her. Was every one of them sad?"

She shakes her head. "I'm not sure."

"Your dad talks about your mom with a smile on his face. You should too." I grab her shoulders to turn her to face me. I give her a smile. "I saw the remote near the TV, by the way." I gesture to her chest of drawers standing below her hanging TV.

She nods, walking over to the remote and turning the TV on.

"So what do you want to watch?" She gives a smile and jumps back onto her bed.