Right now, all I care about is salvaging my relationship with the girl across from me.

Jamie jolts at the sound of footsteps outside the hotel door. We make eye contact for a quick second. She closes her notebook, nods, and springs from the bed to hide in the bathroom.

I listen as my father pulls his key out from the door slot and the gadget unlocks. He pushes into the room.

I stand up for no apparent reason. “Dad,” I blurt.

“Hey, Jame,” he says casually. “Already blew two hundred bucks down there. You still mad at me or are you ready to run through your set?”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. How obtuse, to think my anger with him is something that could dissipate in the span of four hours. Like I’m not holding onto fourteen years of repressed emotion, but riding out some menstrual cramps or a paper cut.

I don’t respond as he kicks off his shoes and lays back on the far bed with his hands behind his head. I close my eyes, trying to cool the rousing monster in my chest.

“I want to get back down to the casino for a bit before we grab dinner and head to your show,” he continues. “What club is it at?”

I sit down on the bed opposite of him. “Have a seat, Dad.”

He sits up. “Weird ask when I’m already on the bed, what’s up?”

“I have something really important to talk to you about.”

He widens his eyes melodramatically. “More very important things to talk about. Is this about you and Dawn? I saw you two outside last night and I gotta say, I’m not surprised—”

I cut him off, “What, no! No, it’s not about that—”

“Okay, but I’m fine with it, you know that, right—” Dad’s squinting at me now.

“Dad, shut up, I don’t want to talk about that right now!” I screech.

Excrement.

He presses his lips together. “Don’t tell me to shut up.”

I exhale loudly.

“You look different, Jame.” He studies me head-on.

I look down at the floor.

“Have you lost weight or something? Are you eating okay?”

We’re interrupted by a knock at the door, thank god. I slip off the bed. As a precaution, I reach out and turn on the TV. It flips on to a menu channel. I fiddle with it frantically until a movie comes on and turn the volume up.

More knocks sound at the door. “Did you order room service?” Dad asks. He’s already checking his phone again.

I use my body to block the view of the room as I open the door about thirty degrees.

“Siri?” My mother squeaks my name quietly, like the surprise of seeing me has strangled her. “What’s happened, what’s wrong, what are you doing here?! What did you do to your hair?” She continues to speak softly, like we’re in danger of being overheard.