“Just pick one thing,” said Nicole. When Caddie looked at her, not understanding, she explained. “One thing—your father, this guy, your friends. Pick one and deal with it first. The rest aren’t going anywhere. The problem is, you’re trying to figure out all three at once.”

Caddie reevaluated her original opinion of the girl. She knew what she was talking about. Or maybe, she thought, I’ve just been making it more complicated than it is. She said, “Maybe my father,” she said, not realizing she was going to say it.

“He sounds the most important,” said Nicole. She drained her coffee cup and set it down. “Family always is.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Caddie replied. “I’ve never really had one.”

“Well,” said Nicole, “now you do.”

It was such a simple statement, said with such matter-of-factness, that it felt to Caddie like someone had struck her. Nicole was right. For years she had resented her father for not being there. Now that he was, she was still resenting him, when what she should be doing was trying to see what kind of relationship they could have.

“We have started to talk a little bit,” she said in her defense.

“Talking’s good,” Nicole said.

“Sure,” Caddie said, “but what comes after that? I mean, what if he doesn’t like me, or I don’t like him?”

“Is that what you’re afraid of?” asked Nicole. “You’re his daughter. He’s your father.” She stressed the words, as if perhaps Caddie wasn’t aware of what they represented. “Besides, you’ll never find out if you don’t give it a shot.”

She makes it sound so easy, thought Caddie. But maybe it was as easy as that. “You’re probably right,” she told Nicole.

Nicole looked at her watch. “I’m supposed to meet Nick for lunch pretty soon,” she said. She looked at Caddie and grinned. “Should I tell him you said hi?”

“Of course,” Caddie said mischievously. “Tell him we had a long talk. Let him wonder what it was about.”

Nicole stood up. “Thanks again for the coffee,” she said. “And use that number.” She pointed her finger at Caddie, emphasizing each of the last three words.

“I will,” said Caddie, knowing that she would. “Thanks. And thanks for letting me babble at you.”

“That’s what friends are for,” said Nicole, waving good-bye.

Caddie watched her leave. That’s what friends are for, she repeated to herself. It was such a sappy statement. She thought suddenly of the hideous song of the same name. Who had sung it? Elton John, she remembered, and someone else. Dionne Warwick, the woman from the old Psychic Friends Network commercials. That was a giant steaming piece of crap. She, Sam, and Bree had sung it once at karaoke night at their favorite club, hamming it up and feigning emotion. It had all seemed so clever, a sneer at the song’s simple platitudes.