I check Gladys for any sort of response or message from Jamie and come up empty, so I slap her computer keyboard a hundred times until it wakes up. I have an email.

Mara,

We made exactly the right decision. We were terrible together and would have rained hell down around our children had we stayed on the same coast, let alone tried to co-parent.

You’re finally talking to Jamie? Why now? You can’t handle your own kid so you want to try to win the affection of mine?

Don’t brainwash my daughter. I don’t know what your angle is here but I’m not buying it.

Stay in your lane.

—Grier

Another kind-hearted response from my father on the catfish account. Nothing from Jamie.

Me [9:30am]: I’m shopping with Grams

Me [10:07am]: Did you get my voicemail?

Me [11:01am]: Jamie are you getting theses texts

Me [11:38am]: Jamie FOR THE LOVE OF GOD RESPOND

Me [12:00pm]: I’M ASSUMING YOU’RE ALIVE BUT YOU’RE STARTING TO FREAK ME OUT

Me [12:08 pm]: Grams bought you/me some new white sneakers. Get pumped. Can we toss these excrement orange Converses?

As time ticks by and I still don’t hear from my sister, I start to imagine that, somehow, she saw Dawn and me together yesterday and got so upset, she decided to completely cut me out.

At seven, Grams, my dad, and I sit down to eat the meal Grams and I put together this afternoon: chicken saltimbocca with a Caesar salad made from scratch, marinated roasted brussels sprouts, and twice-baked potatoes.

We spend the first five minutes of dinner eating in silence.

“How did the gig go yesterday?” Dad asks after he’s devoured a portion of his plate.

I swallow what’s in my mouth and dab my face with a napkin. “Really well, actually, and something exciting happened today. I was booked for another gig.”

Grams jabs her fork in my direction. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“That’s fantastic, Jame. Congratulations.” Dad grins.

“When’s the next gig, granddaughter?” Grams inquires as she cuts her second helping of chicken into meticulous pieces.

“It’s on Tuesday.”

“Oh wow—” Dad starts.

“It’s in Vegas for a big open mic comedy night at MGM. I applied ages ago. Someone dropped out and they sent me an email invitation last minute.” I look up at my father. “Dad, I was hoping you would road trip down with me, and we could spend some time together just the two of us … do some quality bonding. If you want, we can listen to that Game of Thrones podcast you like? You must be a little behind being so busy and all.” I’m taking a gamble on that podcast prod—my mom listens to three of them.