“Anything,” she said, setting her elbows on the table. “What is it?”
“I have to call my dad.”
“Ah. Papa Germaine.” Gretchen moved to the seat next to me, across from David. “Dad’s a little tough,” Gretchen explained to him. “He doesn’t suffer quitters well. Er, not that you’re a quitter, Liv. But you know what I mean.”
David cleared his throat. “If you need me to talk to him—”
“I’ve got this one,” I said and smiled at him. I turned to Gretchen. “Can I borrow your cell?”
She took out her phone, and after a moment of playing with it, she handed it to me withMr. Germainepulled up on the screen.
“You have my dad’s number?” I asked.
“Of course, silly. In case of emergency.”
My father picked up on the first ring. “Hello?” he said, robust even through the phone.
“Dad?”
“Hello?” he repeated, even louder.
“Dad! It’s me, Olivia.”
“Liv, kiddo. What’s up?” he asked, his tone softening. “Whose phone is this?”
“It’s Gretchen’s.”
“Everything all right?” he asked.
“Well, yes and no.” I scratched under my nose. “Do you have a minute?”
“Hang on, I’m on the course.”
David arched an eyebrow at me.
“Golfing,” I mouthed.
He nodded.
Muffled voices sounded in the background until my dad returned. “Go on, Olivia.”
“Dad,” I addressed him slowly, suddenly self-conscious with two pairs of eyes glued to me. “I don’t really know how to tell you this.”
“Out with it, Olivia,” he said. “Come on.”
I sighed. There was really no use in beating around the bush with my dad. “Well, I’ve ended things with Bill.”
“Excuse me?”
“Bill. It’s over,” I said and repeated, “I ended things.”
“What did that son of a bitch do?” Dad asked.
David pushed his empty plates out of the way and set his forearms on the table, watching intently.
“No, he didn’t do anything, it was me,” I said quickly, then paused as the words settled over the table. “All me. I did this.”
“I see.” Dad paused, and I could imagine the wrinkles between his eyebrows deepening. “Why?”
