“Stevie?” she asked, standing up. She shook her head. “Look at you! All grown up.”

“Oh,” I said, giving her a smile back. I never knew what to say to that. Thank you? “It’s so good to see you again.”

“Likewise. It’s been too long,” she said, giving my hand a pat.

“I was just going to say hello to my dad,” I said as I started to head around her desk.

“Oh, I’m sorry hon,” Carla said, sitting back down and glaring at the piles of paper. “He’s gone already, I’m afraid.”

I paused, blinking at her for a moment. “Gone?” I took a step around the corner and there, sure enough, was my dad’s office. But it was dark and quiet, the desk clean—no piles of paper, no soda cans, no Turandot. But maybe he was working at home, back in his apartment—

“Yeah, he took off around seven. Said he was going to have dinner with Joy.”

I staggered back a step. It felt like someone had just slapped me. “He did?” I finally managed.

“He’ll be sorry to have missed you.” Carla was back to sorting the papers, not looking up at me. “So are you in the city with friends? Seeing a show or something?”

I swallowed hard. I could feel my eyes brimming with hot tears, and my chest was tightening. It was getting harder to breathe. “Yeah,” I said with a tremendous effort that took absolutely every bit of my acting ability. “Yeah, something like that. Good to see you again, Carla.”

“You too, hon. Take care,” she called.

I turned to walk back to the elevators, my chin quivering wildly, out of control, the way it only ever did when I was crying for real, not stage tears. I kept my eyes on the dark-patterned carpet, trying to keep it together. I just needed to make it down the hall to the elevator. Then I just needed to make it down the elevator. It was how you eat a whale, after all.

But this technique was no longer working, as the reality of the situation crashed over me like a forty-foot wave. My dad had bailed on my birthday dinner. He’d lied to me about it, then gone to have dinner with Joy instead. And the worst part of it was that, deep down, I wasn’t actually as shocked by this as I should have been. It had been obvious for years now—that my dad had had other priorities. He had moved on, and I wasn’t nearly as important to him as his new family.

I pressed the button for the lobby through a haze of tears, then just prayed for the doors to close without anyone else getting on. I truly felt like I couldn’t endure this ride with a cheerful paralegal, no matter how well-meaning. As the doors finally, blessedly closed, I let myself fall apart, sobbing into my hands—big, ugly, openmouthed sobs, the kind that I would never have done onstage.