Page 90 of The Moment I Knew

I had come over to help Cole and Katie rewrite the drink special signs. They had live music playing again tonight, and they needed to update the drinks to be the list of Christmas specials.

“No I didn’t,” Cole said, leaning back on his heels from where he was kneeling and tilting his head at the sign, frowning like he wasn’t sure whether his cousin was right or not.

“You totally did,” she said. “There’s no ‘u’.”

“That’s the American way to spell it,” Cole argued. “We’re in Canada. I’m not spelling it like that.”

Katie huffed. “There’s no way that’s only the American way. I’m positive that’s how you spell it.”

“Get a dictionary,” he snapped back. “I’ll prove it.”

Katie rolled her eyes, tapping her fingers against the chalkboard like a drum solo. “Fine. But if someone comes in and laughs at us for spelling ‘flavour’ wrong, you’re taking the blame.”

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, finally conceding with a dramatic sigh. He grabbed a wash rag and started rubbing away the U. “Fine. You win, Katie. ‘Flavor’ it is.”

“Victory,” Katie said, holding her arms up triumphantly.

I chuckled, shaking my head. “You both are ridiculous. Let’s just finish before someone actually comes in and sees this mess.”

Then my phone buzzed. A text from Dad.

Dad

We need to talk. Can you come over?

My hand froze, chalk slipping slightly against the board. Cole noticed immediately.

“What’s wrong?”

I forced a small smile, trying to keep my voice light. “Oh, uh… I’m fine. Just—uh, nothing.”

Katie gave me a suspicious look, but she thankfully didn’t press. She got to her feet, picking up the bucket of water we’d been using to wash the chalk off the boards.

“Hey, I think we should refresh the water,” she said, giving us a knowing look that led me to believe we didn’t actually need to refresh the water. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?” And then she was gone. Cole was immediately scooting closer to me.

“What is it?” Cole asked. I tilted the phone screen toward him so he could see the text. His face darkened.

“Well, I guess better late than never,” he said, although the words didn’t match his tone. He sounded angry, and I couldn’t blame him. He saw what a wreck I was last night, how hollow I felt when Dad didn’t even bother to show up for my birthday.

“What if he had a good reason?” I asked. Even to myself, my voice sounded naively optimistic. Every time he didn’t show, I invented excuses. And every time, I forgave him. Every single time. And every time it tore a little more of me away.

I thought of my argument with Lavender the other night and the utter hatred in her voice as she’d talked about Dad. The way she seemed so certain that he was in the wrong, even when I’d tried to show her the other side. At the time, I hadn’t wanted to hear her words, but they were worming their way back into my heart as I stared down at the message on my phone screen.

“I need to know,” I said, voice steadier than I expected. “I need to know if there is a good reason. I mean, what if there was an accident or⁠—”

“He would have told you,” Cole interrupted. “You know, if it was a real emergency, he would have told you.”

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. I knew Cole was right, logically. Part of me knew that there was no good reason, not one that mattered. And yet… a small, stubborn spark of hope refused to die. Maybe this time it was different. Maybe this time he actually had a reason I could understand. Maybe… maybe he had remembered.

I twisted the phone in my hands, trying to make the screen blur the words, trying to make them feel less sharp, less full of accusation. The chalkboard beneath me felt rough against my legs, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

“Maybe he… he just forgot?” I said quietly, but even I knew how weak that sounded. I felt a blush rise to my cheeks, like admitting it out loud made me guilty. “I mean… what if he was on his way, and something came up? Something he couldn’t control?”

Cole knelt beside me, angling his body toward me so that he could rest his hand lightly on my shoulder. “Then he’d have called. Or texted sooner. You know him. This? This isn’t forgetfulness. This is a choice.”

Choice. The word hit me harder than I expected. Not accident. Not mistake. Choice. Every time I let him hurt me, every time I forgave him without really processing the hurt, I was giving him permission to make that choice again. And I had done it for years.

I chewed my lip, staring down at the chalkboards. Cole and Katie’s squabbles over letters and spelling seemed absurdly small and safe compared to this. And yet… part of me still wanted to forgive him. Part of me still wanted to text back immediately, to say yes, I’ll come, like it had never mattered.