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"I was afraid."

His expression changes. "Of me?"

"No." The answer comes immediately. "Never of you."

"Then what?"

I look down at my hands. "Of making things worse."

"For who?"

"You."

He leans back slightly. "How?"

"I told myself you were settled. That you had a life. That showing up after everything that happened between your mother and me would confuse things."

He watches me. "So you decided not calling was better."

"Yes."

"Was it?"

"No." I don't soften it. I don't defend it.

Diego looks toward the window. "I used to think maybe you forgot."

My chest tightens. "I didn't."

"Mom said you didn't. I still wondered sometimes." His eyes stay on the window. "But she couldn't really know."

"No."

He looks at me again. "So how was I supposed to?"

"You weren't."

His jaw shifts. “I should have found a way,” I say. "Whatever was happening between your mom and me, I should have made sure you knew I wanted you in my life."

"I was eight."

"I know."

"You were the adult."

"Yes." It hurts. It should.

"I'm sorry, Diego. I truly am."

His eyes drop to the table.

"I can't give you those years back,” I say. “And I'm not going to ask you to pretend they don't matter because I'm here now."

He doesn't say anything for a while. Neither do I. Finally he looks at me.

"I'm still angry."

"I know."