I pretended to give this serious question some serious thought. “No,” I said. “Not particularly.”

I hoped, childishly, that this would hurt him, but he seemed not to care, and then he gave me a look I couldn’t quite read, a long, evaluative look.

We must have ordered at some point, because the tea had come: two pots, one for each of us, each in its quilted, patterned cozy, and a plate of toasted, buttered crumpets, which my father eyed suspiciously. With the air of someone who has waited far too long for something, he poured his tea into his cup, eschewing the strainer and adding too much milk, so that the liquid in his cup was practically white, with dark, unappetizing bits of tea leaf floating at the top. He took a sip, a look of distaste crossing his face, and then carefully replaced his cup on his saucer. It was remarkable, really, how wrong that had gone, and for a moment I forgot what we had been talking about.

“Excuse me,” he said, calling over the waitress. “Could I have a glass of iced water?”

I wished he would not address her quite so loudly, and felt a fleeting alliance with her, against him, and hoped she would not notice his untouched tea.

Then he turned his attention back to me. It was clear now that he had made a decision and was about to inform me of it.

“If I were you,” he said, “I’d withdraw. Before the committee meets. In fact, I’d do it today.”

“It’s Saturday,” I said.

He made a gesture of impatience, but he had his own agenda now, and that trumped the irrelevance of what I’d said.

“On Monday, then.”

“Monday,” I repeated, nodding. How useless, I thought. All this, so far, was meaningless. But then he said something I did not expect.

“I’m going to have them make you an offer. I mean, at the med school. You can withdraw from here.” He gestured vaguely out the window at, I presumed, the city of Ottawa. “You can take some time, let’s say two, three months, just to clear your head, and we’ll get something together for you.”

I lowered my cup of tea slowly back to the safety of its saucer. “Something together?” I said, and he raised his palm.

“Just something administrative, you know, nothing glamorous, while you figure things out, but it’ll carry you through.”

“I—” I tried again. “In California?”

He gave me a strange look.

“Yes, of course,” he said. “In California.”

He seemed to think of something else then—like he was poised on the brink of it, unsure. Then he decided: yes, he would proceed.

“I haven’t…” he began, and I saw that he was no longer at ease; his eyes flicked across the tablecloth, avoiding mine.