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“Yeah. Some guy she met in Ibiza. Apparently, he’s a ‘spiritual healer.’” I use air quotes, rolling my eyes. “She’s all about ‘aligning her chakras’ now.”

Dad shakes his head, looking somewhere between amused and annoyed. “That woman...”

“She’s something, alright,” I mutter, sipping my drink.

“You should reach out, though,” he says. “She’s still your mom.”

“Why don’t you reach out?”

He gives me a look. “She’s not my mom, and we’re not talking about me.”

“Well, we should be,” I shoot back. “You need to put yourself out there. You know, meet someone.”

“I’m too old for that.”

“You’re not that old. You’re, like, what? Forty-five?”

“Forty-eight,” he corrects.

“Still not ancient. I could sign you up for a dating app,” I tease. “Swipe right on some hotties for you.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “No thanks. I’m good.”

“Come on. You’ve been single for years. It’s time.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I love having you around, you know that? But if this is your way of trying to get me out of the house, it’s not gonna work.”

I grin. “I do love having you around too, Dad. But I’m getting kind of bored. Maybe I can help out in your office or something. Organize it a little.”

“You? Organized?”

“Hey, I can be organized when I want to be.”

He smirks. “I’ll think about it. Don’t you have a ton of homework and classwork to catch up on?”

“I am an overachiever, Dad. I may not be clean, but I get my work done.”

He nods, sipping his coffee.

We sit in comfortable silence for a while, sipping our drinks. I glance out the window, watching students hustle across campus.

“Thanks for this,” I say eventually, lifting my cup.

“Anytime,” he says, smiling.

And in this moment, everything feels okay.

After practice, we head over to the school cafeteria to grab our late lunch.

We’re halfway through a greasy, cheesy pepperoni pizza when I notice Dad hunched over the table, scribbling on paper. Again.

“Seriously, Dad?” I say, eyeing the scattered mess of game plays. “You do this every night.”

He doesn’t look up. “It’s how I plan, Sienna. Been doing it this way since before you were born.”

“And it shows,” I mutter, grabbing another slice. “You know I could digitize that for you, right? Like, turn it into a spreadsheet or whatever.”

He finally looks up, eyebrows raised. “You’re serious?”