“Please don’t tell your mother about this,” he rasps.
“Why not? Like I said, probably a banking error. Maybe something with the holiday.”
“Please, Pips, just don’t say anything. Promise.”
My brow furrows. “Why would it matter?”
“She’d think I’m back into my old habits.” Dull, rhythmic thuds drift from under the table—his foot, tapping nervously. “It was just a bad night. It’ll pick up.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dad. What’s wrong? What happened?” I’ve never seen Dad like this. Sure, he’s flaky about plans, irresponsible about stuff like paying bills on time. But he doesn’t panic about it. His boss, his friends, his landlord—they all know what he’s like. Charming, but with definite undiagnosed ADHD.
“I thought it had been long enough. I thought I could handle it—the guys all said I could,” he mutters. “I know I can handle it, if I just go back to Mondrakes and win again. Emily wouldn’t see it like that, though.”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying.” I reach over, grabbing his hand again. “What happened, Dad?”
“Nothing. Look, I should go call my bank and see if I can’t get this settled.” He pushes his way out of the booth. “We’ll meet up next week so I can give you your present, okay?”
“Dad, wait a sec, let’s finish our coffee!” He just waves me off, only turning around halfway as he rushes to the hooks by the door where we hung our coats. He shoves his arm through the sleeve of his parka and pushes his way out the door before he’s even finished putting it on. I gape at his retreating form.
What the hell just happened?
Pulling out my phone, I open my last text with Dad and try composing a message. My thumbs hover over the digital keyboard as I try to figure out what to say.
Can you tell me what happened?
You freaked me out earlier, and I deserve an explanation.
Let’s just pretend your card worked fine.
Sighing, I settle on the most cowardly approach.
Pippa
Call me when you can, okay?
Almost immediately, dots dance over the screen, telling me he’s typing. They stop and start again. Stop and start. Finally, they stop altogether.
I bite my lip and open a browser. When I google Mondrakes, the results pop up quickly—it’s a private casino. More of a gambling den, really, only talked about on Reddit and on socials.
My blood runs cold. Dad’s mentioned going to casinos a few times before, but always for business meetings. It made sense—he’s a contractor, and networking is a big part of that. It never would have occurred to me to worry about him having a problem.
Maybe it’s nothing. I mean, this is the man who taught me how to ride a bike and sign my name in cursive. He couldn’t have done anything really bad…could he?
I wiggle my toes in my shoes, my old grounding technique. If Dad won’t answer me, the only person I can ask is Mom—but that would feel like a betrayal.
Except…there’s one more person who could probably tell me.
It feels weird to pull up his contact, since I’ve never actually called him. I’ve never texted him, either, unless it was in a family group text. Even then, I don’t think I ever said much to him directly. I wiggle my toes again while I listen to the phone ring on the other side.
“Pippa?” When he picks up, Jack’s voice sounds uncharacteristically puzzled. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing’s wrong.” I fiddle nervously with the corners of a sugar packet. “Do you have a minute? There’s something I wanted to ask you.”
“I’m just in my office, catching up on some emails. Go ahead.”
“Do you know what happened between my parents to make them break up?”
For a few beats, he says nothing. “I thought your mother told you what happened.”
