I chose my college based on the vibes of the people in the school’s accepted students Facebook group. This one blond boy commented on my introduction post saying he also liked a favorite artist of mine, and my friend told me that was proof enough — if there’s one, there’s bound to be more.

My father thought making a decision based on “vibes” was a little silly, but he supported my choice. This was on our drive to New Hampshire in August, when he told me about his first year of college and all the nicknames his new friends gave him. He was so excited for me. It was around then that he learned he had pancreatic cancer, so we started spending more time together.

My first year of college, during the first year of the pandemic, was awful and isolating and all about making the best of it; my classes were online, and I ate soggy takeout meals from the dining hall on the floor of my dorm with my two friends. I felt guilty that I was away from my father and not even enjoying it.

That spring, I used Tinder for a few weeks because I felt ashamed that I had not yet experienced a Great Love. I matched with that blond boy, and we had a dry exchange about our hometowns, then stopped talking; I forget who didn’t respond to whom.

Summer was baseball games with my father and beach days spent almost forgetting that he was even sick. But then summer ended, and I shipped myself back to school.

Fall of my second year, Covid restrictions loosened. I devoured my time in cafes. I saw blond boy in front of the library when I was on the phone and again in my dining hall while his friend played Taylor Swift. I went out to parties in tiny tops. I saw him selling records on the quad for his radio show and laughed at a joke he made while he awkwardly tried to sell an album to someone else.