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“Why did I say your name? Isn’t that what polite people do when they meet someone they know?” One corner of his mouth quivers in almost a smile.

“Yeah, but we don’t really know each other, do we? We met once.”

His right eyebrow rises in challenge.

“Or twice.” I correct myself since I know he’s thinking of the time he caught me with Lucas in his classroom. “Neither time was pleasant nor memorable. It was pretty fucked up as far as meeting people goes.”

His eyes narrow at my free use of the F-bomb. But I don’t have to make nice to him. I know he’s the reason Tommy stopped talking to me. And it pisses me off.

He tilts his head again. “You look like you want to … hit me.”

“Well … if all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail.” I hate that he’s so tall, forcing me to look up.

His eyes widen. “Interesting choice of words.”

“Why is that? Because I quoted Abraham Maslow, the very guy they named this building after?”

“You surprise me, Miss Jones.” And with those parting words, he leaves. I track him until he turns up the stairs and disappears from view.

What’s that supposed to mean? I surprise him? How?

Chapter Ten

I getto The Griller first and ask for a table in the back.I want the extra time to find a spot out of prying eyes and ears and to prepare myself. I need to get into the right headspace to talk to my father. There’s a tug-of-war going on—my mind and my heart at opposite ends with me trapped in the middle. My heart says, “listen to him. Give him a chance.” But my mind says, “fuck him and the horse he rode in on. You don’t need him. You don’t need anyone.”

But I know that’s not true. No matter how often I tell myself I need no one, no matter how much I fill my time with classes, volunteering, work, my internship, and meaningless hookups, at the end of the day there’s an emptiness that can’t be filled. There’s a void I cannot name, and my quick friendship with Tommy only serves to make it even more real. Tommy may be asking for help and looking for a friend in a place where he doesn’t know anyone, but it’s me who’s lost.

This time, I’ll try something different. This time, I’ll listen to my heart and give my father the second chance he’s asking for. And maybe, just maybe, I can give myself a second chance too.

“Becca? You’re here.” He looks surprised and relieved at the same time. “Can I?” He points to the chair across from me on the other side of the table and waits for my permission.

I gesture to the chair. “Yes, please.” It comes out more formal than I intended.

My heart speeds up as the silence stretches between us, second by second, until it’s unbearable, and I have to break eye contact. I reach over and grab the icy water glass the waitress placed in front of me ten minutes ago. Moisture condensing on the outside makes it slippery, and I nearly drop it when my trembling fingers make a grab for it. I’m turning into a klutz. At this rate, I won’t survive the weekend.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I know I’m staring. I can’t help it. It’s all so very surreal still. You look like my mother at your age. I brought pictures. I thought it might be a good way to start.” His words come fast and clipped, all in one breath, as if he needed to push them out in a rush before he lost the courage to say them. “Do you want to see the pictures now?”

The irony is not lost on me. I can’t find my words, and he can’t hold his in.

“You ready to order?” The waitress is back, giving us a much-needed break. I suck in a deep breath and hold the air in my lungs, expanding under the conscious effort to keep it in. A trick I learned years ago.

Inhale as I count to five, hold to a count of ten and exhale until my lungs are empty again, and I can feel my chest concave. Repeat until my heart rate slows down to a normal pace. I do this now, deferring to him so he can order first. I take the time to look at him while he looks over the menu and asks for a cheeseburger, fries, and a Coke. He’s wearing a gray T-shirt under a zip hoodie and dark jeans. A thick manila envelope sits on the table next to him. I’m staring at it. At the hidden pictures it must contain—a part of my history which I know nothing of.

“And you?” The question has me blinking a few times. Yes. Lunch. What do I want? My stomach recoils at the idea of eating, but I force myself to smile at the waitress. It’s not her fault I’m a head case. “Yeah, I’ll have a veggie burger and fries. And water is fine. Thanks.” She takes our menus and disappears between the tables, leaving me without a shield again.

“Are you a vegetarian?”

“No, not really. But I figure it’s an easy way to get my veggies in, and their veggie burger is delicious.”

“Hmm, I’ll have to try that next time.”

Another stretch of silence. My eyes drift to the envelope. “Are those the pictures?”

“Yes, do you want to look at them now?”

“Sure.”

“May I?” He points to the chair next to mine.