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“Hey, thanks for seeing me,” he says, his voice tinged with genuine gratitude.

I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “Well, it’s not like I have anything better to do.”

He chuckles softly, and for a moment, the tension between us eases.

“Do you mind if we go outside?” he asks, gesturing towards his car in the parking lot.

Dan opens my door, and I jump into the passenger seat quickly to avoid the rain.

He jogs around the car and drops into his own seat, shutting his door and shutting out the rain that has really started to come down now.

“Listen, Rachel, I wanted to apologize for my behavior last night,” he begins, his tone sincere. “I was out of line, and I’m sorry.”

I study his face, searching for any hint of insincerity, but all I find is genuine remorse. Slowly, I nod. “I appreciate that, Dan. It’s been a tough week for both of us.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe, but that’s no excuse. You were a guest in my house, and you were expressing an opinion. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I was out of line, and for that, I’m really sorry.”

I shrug, “It’s fine. Apology accepted. Water off a duck’s back.”

But even as I say it, I know it’s not entirely true. It felt like a personal attack, and it hurt. It still does.

An awkward silence settles over us.

Dan shifts in his seat, his fingers tapping against the dash. “So, how are you holding up? With the ash cloud and everything?”

Part of me wants to maintain the professional facade, to insist that I’m fine and in control. But something about Dan’s earnest expression compels me to be honest.

“It’s been challenging,” I admit, my voice quieter than I intended. “Today’s meeting didn’t go very well. I’m not used tobeing stuck like this, unable to do my job, unable to fix things. I hardly spend any time there, but I actually miss my condo. My stuff, my own bed—I’ve realized that I’m not good at living out of a small suitcase for more than a day or two.”

He nods, understanding flickering in his eyes. “I get that. It’s hard to feel helpless, especially when you’re used to being in control.”

An awkward silence descends again, and I decide to use the moment to extricate myself from the car.

“I better get going.” I search for the handle to open the door.

“Rachel,” Dan blurts, “if you’re not doing anything, and it sounds like you really don’t want to spend any more time than necessary in your room, do you want to come over to the house? I know Chloe would be pleased to see you.”

“From sincere apology to emotional blackmail. Smooth.”

“She would!”

“I know,” I laugh. “I’m teasing. I’d like to see her too.”

“Chlo? I’m back. Rachel’s here too.” Dan shouts up the stairs as we enter the living room.

“Okay, Dad, I’ll be down in a minute. Hey, Rachel.” Chloe replies.

“Must have homework tonight.” Dan opens the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of craft beer. “Would you like a drink? A beer? Wine?”

“A glass of white would be lovely.” With the day I’ve had, it really would.

As we sip our drinks, the tension dissipates, replaced by a tentative truce. But just as I begin to relax, Dan clears his throat, a sheepish expression on his face.

“Sorry again about last night,” he admits, his eyes darting away from mine.

“It’s okay,” I manage, my voice carefully neutral. “You’ve apologized, let’s move on.”

He shrugs, his fingers picking at the label on his beer bottle. “I’ve gotten so used to making all the decisions since… I think I’ve confused ‘being decisive’ with ‘I’m always right.’ It’s been eight years, but I’m still navigating how to cope. You know? I guess I’m so used to beingdad, I’ve forgotten who Dan is.”