Page 109

“Thank you,” I said, my voice rough. “For coming over. For saying all that.”

“You’re my daughter.” He said it simply, like it explained everything. Maybe it did.

I turned back to face him, this man who had shaped so much of who I was, for better and worse. He wasn’t perfect. He’d pushed me too hard, expected too much, and made me feel like I could never measure up. But he was here now, standing in my garden, admitting he was wrong.

That counted for something.

“I don’t know about the CEO job yet,” I said. “I need more time to think.”

“Take all the time you need.”

I hesitated, then made a decision. A small one but it felt significant.

“Would you like to split a pizza with me? I’ve got a six-pack of beer in the fridge.”

He smiled and looked years younger. “I would love that.”

We walked inside together, leaving the garden behind. I washed the dirt off my hands while he pulled up the delivery app on his phone, debating toppings like it was the most important decision either of us would make today. Maybe it was.

We settled on half pepperoni, half veggie, because some things never changed. He sat at my kitchen island while we waited, looking around at the space like he was seeing it for the first time.

“You’ve done well for yourself,” he said. “This place. Your career. Everything you’ve built.”

“Even if I walk away from Corwin Gems?”

He considered the question seriously. “Even then. You’d land on your feet. You always do.”

I grabbed two cold beers from the fridge and handed him one. The pizza arrived. We ate standing at the counter, not bothering with plates, grease dripping onto napkins we’d spread across the counter. It was messy and informal and nothing like the stiff family dinners I remembered from childhood. Pizza and beer was one of the few times we didn’t have to pretend to be fancy.

“Your mother would have been proud of you,” he said suddenly, between bites. “She always knew you’d do great things.”

I stopped chewing. We never talked about my mother. It was an unspoken rule between us, a wound too tender to touch.

“You think so?”

“I know so.” He set down his slice, meeting my eyes. “She saw something in you, even when you were tiny. Said you had fire. She was certain you’d change the world if we just got out of your way.”

I swallowed hard, the pizza suddenly tasteless in my mouth. “I don’t feel like I’m changing anything right now. I feel like I’m falling apart.”

“Sometimes you have to fall apart before you can put yourself back together the right way.” He picked up his slice again, taking a bite. “That’s what your mother used to say, anyway. She was smarter than me about that kind of thing.”

We finished the pizza and the six-pack. When he finally left, he hugged me at the door.

“Call him,” he said as he pulled away. “Whatever happened between you two, it’s worth trying to fix.”

I didn’t promise anything. But after he drove away, I stood in my doorway for a long time, thinking about Beau.

I wasn’t ready to call him yet. I still had too much to figure out about myself first.

But maybe, when I did figure it out, I’d find the courage to try.

35

BEAU

The sun had already set by the time I heard the cars pulling into my driveway. I didn’t bother getting up from the couch. Whoever it was could let themselves in or fuck off. I didn’t particularly care which option they chose.

The front door opened without a knock. Footsteps. Multiple sets of them.