I’m on my way back to set in my last look when my phone buzzes again.

Mei: Wait. What if he’s giving you your money?

Holy shit. That never would have crossed my mind, but she’s right. What other good news could he possibly have that would warrant an actual meal at Le Coucou? He barely makes time in his schedule for me. I push through the rest of the shoot with renewed energy and send him a generic excited for tomorrow text once I’m in the car.

I see my father before he sees me, tucked into a booth in the back section. A server greets me and starts to usher me over, but I tell her I can find my way.

My father starts to stand when he sees me, but I wave off his performative chivalry. He takes his seat again and I take the one across from him.

“You’re late,” he says, stating the obvious, and there is no give to his expression. No gleam in his eyes. Nothing. He looks pissed.

“Sorry,” I say, doing my best to create an apologetic smile. “My meeting ran over. I got here as fast as I could.”

“We’ve talked about this. Text me when you’re running late. You’re always on that damn phone anyway.” His tone is so cold, I start to feel the need to give him another explanation, but I stop myself.

“I said I was sorry.”

He stares back at me, eyes narrow and calculating. He thinks I was getting high. He wants to say it; I know he does—but he doesn’t. He looks away, mouth tight.

The waiter sets a bottle of chilled chardonnay on the table between us, then excuses himself.

I reach for my water glass and take a sip. “So what’s this big news you have to tell me?”

He motions to the menu. “I thought you’d want to order first.”

I stare at him. He’s stalling. He knows I know he’s stalling.

I roll my eyes. “Dad, just tell me.”

“Okay. Fine.” Something moves in his eyes, something I’ve never seen before, and I’m not sure if it’s good or bad. I all but hold my breath. “Izzy and I are engaged.”

His words slam into me, driving me against the back of my chair. I blink a few times and seriously start to double down on my atheism because there is no fucking way a god could be responsible for this even if he is a jealous, sadistic, malevolent thug who cares way too much about who people fuck. I do my best to not react, willing every facial muscle to stay exactly where it is. My father is staring at me, waiting for my reaction, but I can’t formulate coherent words. I can’t even think.