Page 91 of The Moment I Knew

“Still… I need to know.”

“Okay,” Cole said softly. “You want me to drive you there?”

The words were on my tongue to say that Dad could just come pick me up, no problem, but then I hesitated, thinking of our last few meetings. Waiting for him in deserted parking lots, like I’m some secret he has to hide. Not even going home with him or out to a restaurant, but sitting in his car or in a half-abandoned park for our conversations. Was that where I wanted to have this talk? When I listened to my father tell me why, for the first time in my life, he’d missed my birthday?

“Yes,” I whispered, meeting his eyes. “Can you drive me?”

He brushed a thumb across my cheek. “Of course, Princess.”

I stood on the sidewalk for a long few minutes, just staring up at Dad’s building. It was cold enough that my breath was fogging up in the air and I was sure that Cole was watching me from the car, wondering what on earth I was doing just standing here, but I couldn’t go in. Not yet.

He would have called if something was really wrong.

I hated how much those words were digging into my mind, coloring my view of how this conversation would go. I wanted to go in with an open mind, to believe that maybe there really was some logical reason why he had missed the one event I’d asked him to attend in the last five months. Since he’d moved out, I’d asked for almost nothing—I nodded along when he explained why he couldn’t come to my track meets, agreed with him when he said we couldn’t spend any holidays together, told him I understood when he explained why I couldn’t come over as often as I wanted.

I’d bent over backwards again and again, and the one time I’d asked something of him, he couldn’t even bother to come.

I looked back at Cole, who was parked along the curb, watching me and ready to drive away at a moment’s notice if I changed my mind, then took a deep breath and walked up the steps.

Before I could text him that I was at the front door, it opened like he had been waiting just on the other side the whole time I was standing there.

“There you are,” Dad said, relief flooding his face. “Hey.”

“Hi,” I said, my voice a little flat.

He leaned in for a hug, hesitated like he wasn’t sure if that was allowed, then wrapped his arms around me anyway. It was brief. Careful. When he pulled back, he held me at arm’s length, scanning my face.

“You look tired,” he said.

“Late night.” I chose not to mention that it was because I’d been up celebrating my birthday. No need to rub salt in the wound before we were even inside.

I followed him up the steps to his apartment. The new furniture and smell of air freshener were less jarring this time than they had been last weekend, but they also didn’t put me in any better of a mood.

I noticed how Dad walked almost all the way into the flat before he kicked off his shoes, leaving them in the middle of the foyer. I toed off my boots by the door and lined them up automatically next to all of Hilary’s that were there. I left his where they were, stepping neatly over them.

Not my house, not my problem.

“Imogen,” Hilary said as I walked in. She was sitting on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her and didn’t bother getting up to greet me. I didn’t mind, exactly, but it was unusual enough that it gave me pause.

“Do you want some tea?” she asked. “Or hot chocolate? I made a pot earlier.”

“No, I’m okay.”

Dad cleared his throat. “Let’s sit, yeah?”

We sat in the living room. Me on the armchair, Dad on the couch, Hilary beside him. I noticed, distantly, how naturally they fit together there, knees angled toward each other. A knitted blanket was folded over the arm of my chair. I didn’t touch it. I didn’t want him to think I was comfortable.

Dad leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Okay. So. I owe you an explanation.”

I nodded. I didn’t trust my voice. I was terrified that if I even just tried to ask him where he’d been yesterday, my voice would break and I didn’t want him to hear that.

He inhaled, then exhaled slowly, like he’d rehearsed this part. “Yesterday was a bit of a mess. Hilary wasn’t feeling well, and we went to the clinic, and everything’s fine now, but it was… a lot. I thought I texted you, but I must’ve—well, I meant to call. I really did.”

I stared at the coffee table, at a coaster with a chipped edge. “You missed my party because she… wasn’t feeling well?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw them reach for each other’s hands. Dad squeezed hers, as if he was reassuring her. I had no idea what it was for, but watching him do it made me burn with anger all the same. He couldn’t show up for me, but he had all the time in the world to reassure her.

“Well, that’s the thing,” he said. “Hilary’s pregnant.”