"What about where?" I asked, forcing the conversation forward. "Public? Private?"
Mere's voice was careful, almost clinical. "The bakery's neutral. Lots of exits, witnesses. And cake."
Fifi made a face, rolling her eyes for maximum effect. "Great, so if things get awkward, I can just stuff my face with pastries until I choke. Perfect crisis management plan." She jabbed a finger at Mere. "And don't say you disagree."
Mere didn't even blink. "What's your point?"
Fifi had to smother a real laugh, and more of the static in the air broke just like that.
Huey barked, then did his rolling trot out of the room to explore. It almost felt scripted.
Meanwhile, the twins couldn't help but slip right into their usual rhythm. Snark, argue, repeat. It was like a pressure release valve.
"I'm just saying, if he's a weirdo, cake is a solid Plan B." Fifi stared at the mug, absently tracing the rim with one finger. "What do we even call him? ‘Chance?' ‘Sir?'Dad feels so weird."
My throat tightened, but I hid it with a gulp of hot chocolate. "He'll answer to Chance, I'm sure. Or whatever makes you comfortable."
Mere went soft, voice barely above the hum of the fridge. "Is he kind? Like, not just pretending, but real?"
I weighed that, turning all my two brief encounters with the man over in my head. The memory of his eyes, gray, sharp, but not cruel, even when he controlled his anger.
"He can be intense," I said carefully. Intense was one word for it. The way he'd looked at me yesterday had felt like a current I couldn't step out of. "But not mean. He's good with people. He cares, and he wants this. He wants you to feel safe, more than anything."
Fifi scowled, but the fight was draining out of her. "Does he even want to meet us? Or is this, like, you guilt-tripping him into a family reunion for science?"
"Trust me," I said, letting my own nerves show, "if I'd told him you wanted to wait a year, he would've respected it. He nearly lost his mind when he found out you existed. When I saw him, he was like a bloodhound on the scent. He wants you both. But if it's too weird, you say the word and we take a break."
Even Huey seemed to approve, falling back to sprawl beneath the table, chin resting between the girls' feet, like some strange four-legged mediator.
We nursed the cocoa and hashed out every hypothetical scenario. What if he cried? Bring tissues. What if someone recognized us at the bakery? Deny everything, swipe cake, exit out the back. What if it was too public, and the feelings got ugly or embarrassing?
"Then we go somewhere private," I said. "If you want, we can ask to meet him at home."
Mere perked up at that, clearly turning the idea over. "You mean, like, his house? That might be easier. Less crowded. Nobody watching."
Fifi shrugged but didn't argue. It was probably the closest she'd ever get to a confession that she was nervous about other people seeing her break down.
It was settled. His house, short meeting, no solo time. The only thing left to do was actually set it up. Cue the return of the mutant nerves.
I reached for my phone. It skidded out of my fingers, bounced off the table, and landed against Huey's butt before sliding onto the tile.
"Smooth," Fifi snarked, "and cool under pressure."
Mere just grinned. "Try again, Mom."
I did. The second time, I secured it with both hands and typed, feeling every tremor down to my bones.
Ready to set up a meeting. The girls want to do it at your house, with me present at all times. One hour, max. Let me know when works for you.
I hovered over send. But the twins watched expectantly, so I hit send and pretended it didn't feel like jumping off a ledge blindfolded.
Fifi had gone quiet, eyes back on her mug. Mere absently twisted the end of her braid, eyes on the rain beyond the window.
I sipped my chocolate and tried to steady my pulse.
Whatever happened next, we'd face it together.
Even if I had to sweep the kitchen floor a hundred more times to keep my hands from shaking.
