There was a knock at the door. I opened it and came face-to-face with my attacker: Angie’s boyfriend Cameron. I’d never had a good look at him, and he was a good-looking boy, about my height, trying to grow a bit of hair on his face and not having a lot of luck with it.

He eyed me curiously, leaned back to double-check the number above the front door.

“Uh, are you Angie’s dad?”

I admitted it.

“I came by to see her? She said there was sort of a thing going on?”

“Sure,” I said, and when I turned to open the door wider, he was able to see what was left of the bruise on the left side of my face. He stopped in mid-step.

“Do I … don’t I know …” And then, as the realization sunk in, he muttered, “Holy shit,” and his body seemed to collapse in on itself.

I extended my hand. “I think we’ve met, but we didn’t have time for proper introductions the other night at McDonald’s.”

He shook my hand limply. “Oh shit,” he said again. “I’m really sorry. I had no idea …”

“I know. And you were just looking out for Angie, and that makes you okay in my book, so why don’t you come in.”

I led him down the hall, and when Angie saw him she put down her cake and walked briskly across the room, throwing her arms around his neck and giving him a kiss. And not on the cheek, either. He glanced back nervously at me and, pointing my way, whispered something to Angie. She looked at me, opened her mouth as if in shock, then slowly a smile developed as she put it together. She shook her head at me, as if to say “What next?” and then turned back to Cameron to gave him another kiss.

Trevor was at the far end of the living room, watching Angie and Cameron locked in their embrace, and even through his sunglasses, you could almost see the hurt in his eyes.

He stood and watched them for a moment, then turned and walked out of the room. I went after him, figuring a couple of words were in order, but he’d slipped through the kitchen and, apparently, out of the house.

An hour or so later, after everyone had cleared out, and Sarah and Paul were out front making some farewell chitchat with our friends, the phone rang. I grabbed it in the kitchen and looked at the sliver of cake still sitting on the table. I was stuffed, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t have more.

“Hello?” I said.

“Hey.” Even though the voice was tired and a bit weak, I recognized it immediately.

“Lawrence!” I said. “Is it ever nice to hear your voice. How are you?”