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I knew she was right, but it didn’t make sitting back down at the table any easier. My dad looked up at me with an impassive expression. I slid into my chair and smiled tentatively, waiting for him to speak.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat loudly. “How are things at work?”

“They’re good,” I nodded. I was grateful he chose such an easy subject. “I’m busier than ever and the partners seem to really trust me now.”

“Well, that’s something,” he said simply. He took a sip of his iced tea and leaned back in his chair.

“It is,” I agreed. “When I first started I only had one or two cases every six months, but now they throw almost everything my way. I’m so busy that they actually had to hire an assistant for me.”

“Your mother told me,” he said. “Some young guy. Aaron something.”

“Ian,” I corrected with a nod. “He’s great, dad. You would really like him.”

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

We fell silent and I glanced around the kitchen. My mother was putting food away and Lilliana was sitting across from me at the table. Her head was ducked down as she shoveled pie into her mouth so fast I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Slow down, kid,” I told her. She glanced up at me with narrowed eyes, but she quickly slowed her pace. For a five-year-old, she was already developing an intense attitude. It was part of what made me love her so much. She was already an individual.

“Knows what she likes, that one,” my dad said with an approving smile. “I bet you don’t eat like this in New York, do you Lili?”

“She eats fine,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. This was exactly why I didn’t want to sit and talk with my father.

“I’m sure she does,” he said quickly. “I’m just saying, she doesn’t eat like this.”

“The pie at Anderson’s bakery on 101st street is way better than this,” Lillianna said. I fought back a smile. “No offense, Grandma.”

“None taken,” my mom said with a chuckle as she placed the last piece of Tupperware in the fridge. “I’m not a professional baker or anything.”

“You might as well be!” My dad said. “I’ve never tasted anything better than your cooking. Not in all my life.”

“Don’t listen to your grandpa, Lili,” my mom said. “He likes to tease me.”

“What I like is to watch the Pats,” he said roughly. He checked his watch and stood up quickly. He kissed my mother swiftly and hurried into the living room. We could all hear the T.V. turn on and his recliner creak as he sat down.

I rolled my eyes and mumbled “Nice talk, Dad,” under my breath. My mother patted my shoulder and moved to sit beside me.

“Don’t let him get to you,” she said softly. “That’s just your dad.”

“Doesn’t make it any easier,” I said just as softly. Lillianna was still working on her pie.

“He loves you,” my mom said as if that made everything okay.

“But he isn’t proud of me,” I argued.

“Sure, he is,” she said. “He just doesn’t understand your life.”

“For someone who grew up not even two hours from the city, you would think he would be more okay with his daughter living there,” I said.

“But he’s not and you can’t change that,” she said. “All you can do is accept it.”

“Right,” I scoffed. “Like he accepts me.”

“You don’t give him a chance to,” she snapped. “How many times have you been home in the past five years? My god, Piper, we haven’t seen Lillianna since she was three.”

“That’s not true,” I said, but I knew it was. I avoided Bradberry like the plague.

“Piper,” my mom said. She shook her head and leaned closer to me. “Cut us some slack, okay? We just miss you. Both of you.”