“Christ. I fucking knew it,” she huffs to no one in particular and looks to the sky as she bites the tips of her French manicure. If she were a man, these nervous tics would be key body language data points for me. But for now, she just looks like she can’t follow the rules of a simple round of speed dating. She leans in like she’s about to tell me my underwear is showing and whispers, “Look, I’m not sure who all I’m going to piss off by telling you this, but I really don’t care anymore. Enough time has gone by and I was promised that they told you; that you knew.” Just then the whistle blows on this round of speed dating.

Gemma doesn’t break eye contact with me. Instead she just puts her hand out to block the next guy from trying to take the turn that is rightfully his. He rolls his eyes and obliges. Another potential soul mate, down.

Gemma mumbles to herself then says: “Decker—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a sec. How do you know who Decker is?”

“—has a son,” she blurts out.

“Gemma, I don’t know what is going on here, but clearly we are blurring some sort of client relationship boundaries here. I’m going.”

I get up from the stationary side of the table and she reaches across, putting her hand on my arm and directing me back into the chair.

“He has a son with me.”

My concern for this woman’s stability and sobriety is rapidly growing. It’s my turn to lean in and whisper.

“I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about,” I say, stirring the melting ice in my otherwise-empty cocktail glass on the table. “But this is not appropriate, and I am leaving.”

“I know you don’t know what I’m talking about, which is precisely the problem. I was told that you knew about our son and that you wanted to be involved in his life, but you just needed some temporary distance since it was so soon after Decker had passed. And I understood that—I...I accepted that. But then years went by and you never contacted me, nobody brought you up, and I couldn’t figure out why you wouldn’t want to be part of Decker’s son’s life. So, clearly someone lied and I’m not going to play into that anymore. I’m done.”

“What are you talking about? Who lied?”

She just shakes her head as if I was asking her a yes or no question.

“Who lied, Gemma? You better start naming some names if you want me to keep taking you seriously.”

The truth is I haven’t started to take her seriously, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“I know it looks like I have my life together. And I do now, somewhat. But even after the money, the secrets are still choking me and have been for the last five years. I just don’t think I can be the one who pieces this whole thing together for you,” she says as she gets up to leave the speed dating table. I drive my fingernails into her forearm the way Casey did when she dragged me onto this cursed boat.