While he was inside ordering, I poked at my phone, methodically marking texts from people in Philly as read and deleting a few for good measure. Every time I looked at my phone and saw the texts piled up — apologies, pleas, solicitations — I felt sick. They had stopped coming in about a week before I got my phone back.

He came back, followed by the waitress, a tall woman with a smoker’s voice and hair dyed neon red.

“Coffee for both of ya.”

“You’re an angel,” he said.

“I get that a lot,” she said. “Hey, I remember you,” she said, looking at me.

“I used to come here in high school,” I said.

“Oh yeahhhh. You used to look different, but ya can’t fool me. You’d be here in the middle of the damn night with what’s-her-name with the crazy hair, really poofy.” She placed her hands at a distance from her head to illustrate. “I still see her sometimes.”

That had been so long ago that it took me a second. Difficult to even think of that version of me as the same person, but to someone the waitress’s age it must have felt like last week. Being reminded of that time was jarring, uncomfortable, but I recovered quickly.

“Hanin, yeah,” I said. “She still lives here?”

“Sure thing,” she said. “Used to work at the Kroger’s on Maple. I think she’s up in Ypsi now, haven’t seen as much of her.”

“I just got back. Maybe I’ll run into her,” I said.

“Maybe so. Where ya been, hon?” she said.

“Philadelphia, mostly.”

“Ahhh. The City of Brotherly Love. Love that place. I got a cousin out there, used to visit him sometimes. He was the smart one in our family. Used to drive my uncle crazy. Well, I’ll see ya, I’m sure.”

A motorcycle went by a few streets away, sending a loud, flatulent noise echoing through the still-quiet streets. She had gotten me thinking about that time in my life, had made it real again. I made a mental note to come back and ask her about Stephanie, Joe Kowalski, Zack Harris, and whoever else seemed likely to remain around here. That seemed more approachable than calling anyone up. Who knew if they still had the same phone numbers, anyway, and who knew if I wanted to see anyone again. My dad smiled and stared into his coffee, waited for the door to close.

“So where the hell have you been?” he said in a quiet, pointed voice, almost a whisper, looking at me imploringly across the table.

I moved the spoon around in the coffee cup. “Mom didn’t tell you?”

“No. She doesn’t tell me anything.”

I sighed. “Can this wait until later? Or just ask her.”