A soft rap comes from the other side of my bedroom door. I throw my legs over the edge of my bed and move across the suite to unlock it. My father smiles at me when I swing open the double doors, and even that feels wrong. It’s like a rip in his face.

I make myself smile back. “Hey,” I say as he steps in.

“Are you okay?” he asks as he glances around my room, trying to be discreet, but failing miserably.

I know exactly what he’s looking for, but he won’t find anything here. I got rid of my stash last week, every trace. I hid the joints, the powder and the pills in the lining of my Audi. I found a med school dropout from Craigslist who agreed to sew in a hidden compartment on the underside of the passenger seat, and he pulled it off with such surgical precision, sometimes even I struggle to find it.

“I’m fine,” I say, following him inside.

He’s still looking around, still being obvious. I ignore him and smother Cindy Crawford in kisses.

“I’m gonna book a room at the Gansevoort for tonight,” I say after a few moments, carefully setting the cat on the floor, since she hates sudden movements. He doesn’t stir, doesn’t blink. Nothing. “I can’t sleep in here tonight. Cindy was in here while I was at my—” I stop when I realize he’s gone catatonic. “Dad?”

Still nothing.

As if on cue, I sneeze. It’s a huge one, straight from the depths of my diaphragm, and I swear my heart stops beating for a moment. At least the explosive sound of my sternutation snaps my father out of his trance.

His eyes flutter and he looks at me as if he hasn’t heard a word I said. “My doctor just phoned me.”

I’m not sure what to do with that. More bad news. I swallow and do my best to shift gears. I ease closer to him, take his hand and add practiced concern to my voice, hoping he doesn’t hear the effort. “Look, don’t worry. We knew this would probably happen. I’ve already made calls. I’ll make sure the funeral is—”

“No, it’s gone. The surgery...” He shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m in full remission.”

I’m so stunned that I stumble back a step. “Full...”

He’s smiling now and my brain can’t process what it means fast enough. “Can you believe it? It’s a fucking miracle.”

His words hang in the space between us like smoke after a fire, tainting the air, leaving a foul taste in my mouth.

I’m quiet for too long.