Stella sighs, the steam from her coffee curling into her face. “You want to know the real reason I shot it? And why I played it for the room?”
I look up, and there’s something like apology there, but not quite. More like confession.
“I wanted to help Andie,” Stella says. “I knew she needed the cash. She’s broke, Dad. Like, broke broke. But she would never ever ask for help, not even from you. The only way she was going to win that bet was with proof, and you know the girls wouldn’t believe anything that wasn’t in high-def.”
“That’s not a reason,” I say, my voice flat. “You could have given her money. Or told me, and I would have given her money.”
Stella shrugs. “You’d have given her a thousand dollars for nothing?”
“In a heartbeat,” I snap, louder than I mean. Heads turn at the counter. “If she needed anything, she could have asked. That’s how it works, Stella.”
“Not for Andie.” Stella’s tone is acid. “She’s got more pride than sense. And you know what? She’s still broke. You know how I know? That girl is paying rent, working her fingers to the bone as a caterer, still pretending she’s fine, even though I know she’s living close to the margin. She’s just proud, Dad. Or maybe she’s punishing herself. I don’t know.”
The words pile up between us, jagged and ugly. I see it all now—the way Andie flinched every time I offered her something, the way she brushed off gifts, the way she offered to pay for half sometimes, even at fancy restaurants. It wasn’t about the money. It was about not wanting to owe anyone. Not even me.
Stella finishes her coffee in two long gulps, then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “She’s not even talking to me anymore. The apartment’s fucking miserable. I thought maybe she’d move out, but she hasn’t, and I think it’s because she doesn’t have the money to move. She’s penniless. Or too stubborn.”
I stare at her, trying to find the right combination of words. “You should apologize.”
Stella’s lips twist. “I did. She doesn’t want to hear it.”
“Try harder.”
Stella looks at me, really looks, and I see something childlike there. Not weakness, but the ache of wanting to do right andnot knowing how. “Maybe you should try, too,” she says. “If you want her back.”
A moment passes. The room hums with the whine of the espresso machine, the scrape of chairs, the laugh track from the table of freshmen in the corner. My anger cools, replaced by something dull and uncertain. Regret, maybe.
I say, “I’ll think about it.”
It’s a shitty answer, but it’s the only one I have.
The moment teeters, then passes. Stella stands, gathering her bag. She’s about to walk away when her phone vibrates on the table, the screen lighting up with a flash of blue.
There’s a picture—two men, side by side, both with strong jaws and eyes a penetrating blue. They’re grinning, and look like complete douches to me.
Stella snatches the phone, flipping it face-down. Her cheeks flush, and for the first time all day, she looks embarrassed.
I cock an eyebrow. “Who was that?”
She doesn’t quite meet my gaze. “My study group.”
I snort.
“You’ve never been in a study group in your life.”
My daughter laughs, bright and reckless. “Well, I’m in one now. It’s great. We specialize in spit-roasts and double teams.”
I almost choke on my espresso. Holy fuck, Stella’s fucking those two men!
She grins at me, then leans in and presses a quick, rough kiss to my forehead, like she’s five years old again and just got away with murder. “Bye, Dad.”
I watch her go, the sunlight swallowing her up, and wonder if I’ve royally fucked up as a father. Obviously, I have. I’m fucking Stella’s friend, as my daughter fucks two men simultaneously. What the hell has become of the Moreland family?
But maybe it’s not too late for either of us. Maybe we’re all just learning how to ask for what we want, and how to say it without choking on the words.
The coffee cools between my hands, and for a moment, I see Andie’s face in the glare on the window. The beautiful blonde’s laughing, a little wild, a little wounded, but real.
I sit there, thinking about pride and shame and the weight of things unsaid, and think about calling her.
