The memory made me wince a little, but I sat with it anyway, until it went away. And then it felt good just to sit under the big ceiling fans, sipping my drink and watching all the people doing the things people do. People typed on laptops and read books. A man in an armchair was knitting, and there was a mom beside me on the couch, whispering into her phone, with a baby asleep on her lap.

After a little while, two high school kids came in and sat down across from me. They pulled out a deck of cards and started to play some complicated game I couldn’t follow, but when they caught me staring, one of them smiled at me, and that made me blush. I could feel it. So I finished my mocha quickly, drained the very sweet thick last sip, as I stood up and headed for the counter.

“Thanks, beautiful,” said the man at the register when I slid my glass over to him. “You make sure to have a great day, okay?”

It was the first thing anyone had said to me all afternoon, and I wasn’t entirely expecting it. But his voice was kind and warm and rich, and his eyes were sort of smiling at me too, crinkling up at the corners in a nice way.

“Oh!” I said. “Thank you. I’ll try.”

“That’s all you can do,” he said.

Suddenly, I had an idea. I reached into the tote over my arm, took out the silver packet of brownies, and set them on the counter. “I made these,” I said.

“For me?” said the man.

I nodded.

“Well,” he said, “it’s my lucky day.”

“Mine too,” I said with a smile. And though I wasn’t sure why, as I left the coffee shop, and heard the bell jingling behind me as the door closed, I had the strangest feeling—almost like a knot that had been tied tightly inside me was suddenly loosening all on its own.

When I got home, it was later than I’d realized, and I found my dad sitting at the kitchen table. He was eating a large brownie and staring absentmindedly at his phone. He glanced up quickly when I opened the door. “Oh, hey, Leah!” he said guiltily. “Don’t tell your mom I spoiled my dinner.”

I laughed loudly, without meaning to. It just seemed really funny for some reason. My big dad, feeling guilty over a brownie. As if it mattered whether he ate a brownie. “My lips are sealed,” I said, grinning at him.

Then he smiled too. “Hey, did you make these?” he asked, raising his brownie. “They’re really good.”

I nodded, wondering where else he thought they could possibly have come from. “Yeah,” I said. “I had a craving.”

“Well, thanks, sport!” He took another bite, and disappeared back into his phone.