“‘Stepdads?’” I repeated. “Like, plural?”

“Mom’s on Husband Number Seven,” she said with a sardonic smile. “It’ll be nice if this one lasts longer than nine months, but, you know. We’ll see.”

“Wow.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Mom may have had three boyfriends over the last five years, but at least she married only one of them.

“She also wasn’t very responsible,” she said slowly, as if measuring her words. “She pulled me out of school for six months to go on tour with Husband Number Three, and I was out for another two while she scouted locations with Husband Number Four for some indie film he ended up never making.”

I stared at her in disbelief. No wonder she needed therapy. Anyone would.

“My formal education wasn’t exactly her top priority.” She sipped her drink. “It’s why I’m homeschooled now,” she said. “Also why I live with my dad.” She shifted in her seat, and her entire demeanor changed. Her normally confident expression was gone, replaced by an almost defeated grimness. Her shoulders drooped as she slouched.

This wasn’t a girl I was familiar with. All the poise and confidence she oozed? It was like that was a carefully constructed facade. Her life didn’t seem so perfect anymore. And as Clover let down her guard, I considered letting mine down, too.

Maybe what she needed was a friend.

“My dad and I aren’t…” I paused to search for the right word. “Close,” I said at last. “I don’t know what I’d do without my mom.”

“Your mom’s probably a lot more responsible than mine.”

I nodded. “She’s a lawyer,” I said. “She made partner at her firm not long before…” Before that night, I wanted to say, but I couldn’t. I swallowed hard and said, “It was right before they split up.”

She rotated her cup and swirled its contents. “So where’s your dad?”

I froze. Jake was the only person I’d really talked to about my father. I wasn’t ready to share that with anyone else. “He’s around,” I said. “Sort of.”

Clover bobbed her head. “At least he’s sort of around. My mom….” She lifted her chin as if to look up at the ceiling, and I had a feeling she was trying hard not to cry. She cleared her throat and sat up straight with shoulders back, her hands folded primly in her lap. “My mother admitted my father was a more qualified caregiver after he agreed to increase his alimony payments by five figures.”

“It’s all about money,” I said, disgusted.

“We’re just another box to check off on a contract.”

“Or something they can pass back and forth.”

“Right? It’s like they forget we have feelings.”

“Yes!” At that moment, Clover and I were kindred spirits. She was the first person I’d met who understood.

“Well, whatever.” She pursed her lips and downed the rest of her drink. “That was three years ago. I haven’t seen her since.”

Calm, collected Clover was back, just as quickly as if someone had flipped a switch. I wondered if I’d imagined seeing her on the verge of tears.

A soft chirp came from the bag beside me, and I reached in to pull out my phone. I let out a heavy sigh.

“Speak of the devil,” I murmured.

Clover raised an eyebrow. “Your dad?” I nodded, and she collected her stuff and rose from the table. “You should get that,” she said. “I’ll see you later.” She turned and left without a backward glance, leaving me with my chirping phone.

I took a deep breath before I tapped Answer.

“Hello.” I kept my tone as even as possible. There was no need for him to know how nervous I was.

“Talia?” He sounded surprised. “I didn’t think you’d pick up.”

I wasn’t going to, I wanted to say, but I grimaced and said, “I’ve been busy.”

“Oh.” And now he sounded disappointed. “I’m not catching you at a bad time, am I?”

“Just doing some stuff for school,” I said.

“Okay.” Pause. “I guess you know your mom gave me your number?”

“Yeah.”

Another pause. “I’m, uh, glad you picked up. I was hoping I could see you soon. Maybe lunch next weekend?”

I tried to think of a feasible excuse not to see him, but nothing realistic came to mind. “I guess,” I said at last. I picked up my pencil and twirled it between my fingers.

“Great!” Was that relief in his voice? “What do you say I make reservations in Santa Monica for next Saturday? We can wander around the pier and ride the Ferris wheel if it’s not too cold.”

An image of a happier time flashed in my mind, back when I was a little girl and my dad and I would feast on corn dogs and cotton candy while we tossed stale bread to the seagulls. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. I didn’t go to Santa Monica very often anymore, and the pier was one of my favorite places to go when I was a kid. I couldn’t believe he remembered.

But I was still wary. “The whole day?”

“Well, a couple of hours, anyway.”

“Oh.”

“We could stay local, if you’d rather.” Maybe he’d heard the doubt in my voice.

“Yes, please.”

“And lunch is okay?”

Coffee would take less time, I wanted to say, but instead I said, “Yeah, okay.”

“Great,” he said again. “When should I pick you up?”

I glanced at my car keys and swallowed hard. “Um, I have my license, you know. I can meet you wherever.” So I can escape if I get too weirded out.

“Sure.” Was that disappointment I heard? Relief? I couldn’t tell. “I’ll call you sometime this week about where you want to go.”

It was more of a question than a statement, so I focused on keeping my voice light and upbeat as I said, “Sounds good.”

“All right, kiddo,” he said. “Next week, then.” There was a pause. “I — I love you.”

I froze. “Yeah,” I managed to say. “Next week.” I ended the call and slid my phone to the other end of the table.

My dad had been absent from my life for so many years. It was like he’d willingly disappeared but suddenly expected everything to be okay again.

I love you, he’d said. I doubted it was true. He’d disappeared from my life so suddenly and so completely, I wondered if it had ever been true.

I covered my face and rested my elbows on the table to collect myself. Finally, I grabbed my phone and sent a hurried text to the only person I trusted with my deepest insecurities. Mere seconds after I hit Send, “I Want to Hold Your Hand” blared from my phone.

“Are you okay?” Jake demanded as soon as I answered.

“I know you said you had something going on after work,” I said, hating every word coming out of my mouth, “but can you come over later?”

Chapter Thirteen

A few hours after I’d called him, Jake came over straight from work and engulfed me in a hug as soon as I opened the front door. I relayed the details of the call and all the squicky emotions that came with hearing his voice again. It was barely a minute-long conversation, but it threw me into an emotional tailspin. I’d spent the last five years with no contact from my father. He didn’t even acknowledge birthdays or Christmas. And now he was back and acting like everything was wonderful.

Except it wasn’t.

“I think it’s great that you picked up,” he said. We were hanging out in my room. I was sitting up in bed with my back against the headboard while he rested his head in my lap and dangled his feet off the edge of the bed. He fiddled with my phone as he spoke. “And I’m glad you agreed to hang out with him.”

“It was easy to pretend he just doesn’t exist,” I said as I played with his hair. “So why? Why does he want to be a part of my life now?”

“Why not?”

I leaned my head back and sighed. “Because I’m an awful person.”

Jake rolled over. He propped himself up with his elbows and looked at me in earnest. “Do you really think that?”

“Sometimes.”

“You did what you had to do,” he said. “What did Dr. Brinkley call it? ‘Self-preservation’ or something?”