Damn. That’s him.
Our eyes don’t let go for long seconds, neither of us sure what the hell to do. Then he starts making his way to the table. Backpack slung over one shoulder. Navy UPenn jacket.
“Uh… hey,” he says, voice shaky enough to take the edge off my own nerves. “I’m… Damon.”
I nod and rise, extending my hand. “Dice.”
He shakes it. “Thanks for… meeting me. I know it’s, like, weird.”
“No other way it could be.” I gesture to Lot. “This is Lot.”
“Oh.” His eyes flick to her, as if he hadn’t processed her sitting there until now.
“Hi, Damon.” She gives him that half-suspicious, half-lukewarm look that saysI see you but I’m not feeling you yet.“I’m Dice’s partner.”
Not girlfriend.Partner. She says it with intention so he knows what this is. That we’re a unit.
“Hi.” He squirms a little under her gaze, clocking her importance at the table.
“You want anything?” I ask.
“No thanks.” Then he waits for me to sit first. Raised polite.
Silence hangs for a beat too long. I break it. “So, where you from in Philly?”
He dumps his backpack on the floor and licks his lips. “Northwest side.”
“Nice area?”
“Yeah. Middle-class, I guess you’d say. I live on campus now but go home on weekends when I don’t have basketball practice.”
“What position?” I ask, making conversation to get a feel for him.
“Point guard. But I’m not good enough to go pro,” he adds matter of factly. “It’s just a scholarship thing. I like math and designing stuff, so I’m following in my dad’s footsteps to become an engineer. Thought about music production too. I’ve listened to your mixes online. They’re really good. Wish I could spin like that.”
“Appreciate it,” I say, but my mind snags onfollowing in my dad’s footsteps. “You close to him? Your father.”
“Yeah.” Damon drops his gaze for a second. Then he hesitantly adds, “I brought pictures… if you want to see them.”
I don’t. But saying no feels petty. “Yeah, go ahead.”
He pulls out an envelope, old-school style, and lays three photos on the table.
Lot’s hand rests on my thigh like an anchor. She hasn’t spoken again, but she’s here. Solid and steady. Holding me down just by being close.
She leans over and studies the photos too. It’s jarring. Seeing for the first time this stranger who’s supposed to be my father. Dark-skinned in a chambray shirt, smiling beside Damon, who’s in a graduation cap and gown. They got the same smile—guess I have it too. Another pic, this one just of this Hayden Watts, younger, around myage. We look more alike there. All in the mouth and jaw. In the third one, they’re out front of a nice two-story house—Damon, Hayden, and a light-skinned woman who must be Damon’s mother. A happy family. Like a goddamn Hallmark ad.
What the actual fuck? This man built a life. Has a wife and son. Showed up for them. But never for me.
I slide the pictures back across the table, hating the way they make me feel. It must show on my face because Damon quickly puts them away.
“He know you’re here?” I ask.
“I told him. He didn’t want me… stirring up the past. But now that I have, he wants to talk to you.”
“Naw.” I shake my head. “That’s not happening.”
“You… hate him.”
