How did you find me?I can’t manage to ask him. Words have abandoned me. We’d been so careful when Iosif had first brought me here. I was never on the café’s social media. Gela’s team ran that and all its advertising to deliberately keep me from having to panic about it. Iosif was even careful to register the business under an alias.
Careful is never careful enough, though, is it? Especially when my father hasn’t had his fix in a while.
Experience alone is what helps me find my voice and suggest, steadily, “How about we take a walk, Dad? I was just running out to grab a couple of burritos for us anyway.”
I say it loudly enough for Carmen and Jin to hear me. Gripping his elbow, I steer him out the door. I don’t want him here. I don’t want him anywhere near my and my mom’s space.
He frowns at me, like I’m the crazy one.
“You can’t make food in your own café?”
I swallow thickly. “Your intel is wrong, Dad. It isn’tmycafé. I just manage it.”
Slowly, he nods. “Right. I guess that makes sense. What doesn’t is that you never came back. What’s up with that?”
I always think he can’t astonish me more. Somehow, he almost always manages. Guardedly, being careful not to get overtly emotional, I say, “You sold me off. And there was no return receipt.”
His face floods with color, just like mine often does. “I don’t remember much about that night, hon,” he stammers, stopping in his tracks. My stomach tries to claw its way out of my throat.
“Oh.”
“I—I have a disease, honey. I know that. I shouldn’t have drunk so much. I fucked up. That’s why I did everything I could to find you. To bring you home. They told me you got married to some Russian mobster. What kind of father am I?”
The concern in his voice… It makes my battered heart twinge.
“It’s fine,” I force out stiffly. “I’m fine. You can go.”
“Janella.” He grabs for my hand, and I startle, pulling back with such haste that I hit him in the chest. Shame riots through my system. Hurt flashes across his face.
Iosif glares in the back of my head as remorse tries to shape words.
I can’t apologize. I won’t.
I stare at my father, watching him realize in real-time that this won’t be like any of the other times.
“I’m trying here,” he says, frustration coloring the words. “I’ve been going to meetings, y’know. Staying sober. For you, honey. To make our lives better. To make it all right with you.”
I’m a fool. Despite all the bad he’s done, I want to believe him badly.
“Dad,” I try, guiding him toward a bench. It’s really for me. My knees feel unsteady. “I’m glad to hear that. I am. You deserve to be healthy. But I just can’t—I can’t be a part of that right now.”
I wait, my breath held. I wait for the switch to flip and for him to unleash his wrath.
He doesn’t.
“I just wanted you to know,” he sighs heavily. “Wanted you to be proud of your old man. The way I’m proud of you. Your mom would’ve loved what you’ve done with her place.”
Which version of her are you even remembering?I wonder.
It’s no use.
“Thanks, Dad,” I say politely, reaching out to squeeze his arm.
What I’d meant as a parting gesture gives him hope. I see it in his face, the way his eyes light up after. “I’m serious, honey,” he says, zeal renewed. “You did a good thing. And of course you did, huh? You got all the best parts of her, Nellie. That’s why I—I need your help, Nellie.”
There it is.
This is why he came.
