I dash at the tears on my cheeks. Dad is made of stone but I don’t know for how long so I keep going. “I’ve been so terrified of turning out like you. Too angry, too tired to give a damn, that I dumped the first woman I’ve ever been in love with. Can you believe that? I’d rather be alone than put anyone through the things that you put Mom through. And I don’t mean the cheating. I mean the hours and hours alone. She was alone while you worked and worked and only cared about the legacy you were building.”

I press the heels of my hands to my temples as the weight of what I’ve done hits me, fully. The mental gymnastics I had to do, all because I was...scared. Scared of disappointing her, of not being good enough. Scared that one day she might not love me anymore while I loved her forever and ever.

I rush forward, wrapping my arms around my father. His remain stiff at his sides. “You were scared, weren’t you?” I say over his shoulder. From here, I can smell that smell that every house has. The one that will follow you on your clothes when you leave it. It smells like laundry detergent, fabric softener.

The same brand Mom used growing up.

“You were scared.” I pull back. He’s red-faced, his throat working but his jaw tense. “I’m sorry for you, Dad. I’m sorry that you don’t love yourself enough to love the people who love you back.” It’s such a strange feeling to feel sorry for your parent, to pity him. “I’m going to learn from your mistakes, though. I’m going to be scared and do it anyway. And I’m going to fail at my business, probably. But I’m going to love her. And maybe I’ll suck at that, too. But maybe I won’t.”

I turn down the steps. It’s the middle of the night and I won’t see her until tomorrow when filming starts, but suddenly I can’t wait to go to bed. Every second brings me closer to seeing her again.

“Amy,” he says, his voice rough.

“This is going to be the last time I seek you out, by the way,” I say, not giving him a chance to speak again. I was on a roll but I can feel the control slipping. I’m going to need to have a good cry in my car soon. “If you want to have a relationship with either of us, the ball is in your court. I can’t speak for Wes but if you think you’d like that—respectfully, kindly—you know where to find me.”

We stare at each other, me teetering on the edge of a breakdown. The only clue that he is affected is the way his Adam’s apple bobs over and over.

“What’s her name?” he asks.

“You’ve met her,” I say. “Sophie. She kicked you out of my—out of our—restaurant.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Sophie

The first text I’ve received from Amy in a week comes in at three in the morning. I don’t see it until my alarm blares at 7:00 but I stare at the time stamp for far too long, trying to figure out what she was doing to be awake at the ass-crack of nighttime. I want to believe that she was sleeping in her bed and woke up because of some dream, about me maybe, and the memory of the dream made her think of me.