Back to Aiden’s face: his lips were pursed, the bottom one was full and stuck out. As it usually did when he was in deep concentration. The older man’s lip did the same while he assembled his cigarette. Surely she was making silly connections. The man outside smoked half the cigarette before stomping it out on the sidewalk. He wiped his hands on his worn black pea coat and walked to the cafe door. When he stepped inside, Antonia held her breath and continued to discreetly spy on him. The man wiped his boots on the mat just inside the door and took his place in line behind the American family that was still ordering coffee. The children whined about being bored, while the parents demanded customized drinks that mimicked a suburban Starbucks order. The man muttered something under his breath as he waited.

The way he stood, the way he ran his meaty hand through his hair in frustration, even his expressions... Antonia’s eyes cut back to Aiden who’d sat up in his seat, no doubt from another dramatic turn in his own story. When Aiden ran his hand through his own black hair and sighed at Claudette’s misadventures, her heart sped up. Jesus Christ, Toni, you’re being an idiot. What are the odds? What are the damn odds that an estranged father would show up in a coffee shop after twenty years? After years of being steeped in fiction, Antonia wondered if she was finally losing her mind.

“There’s other people in line, boyo,” said the older man. He cocked his head to the side as he addressed the father of the American family. “I ain’t got all day.”

He wasn’t loud about it, but his tone was edged with steel and it betrayed his disarmingly thick Irish accent. The father quietly acknowledged him and tried to hurry his family along. When they were out of the way, the man stepped to the counter and towered over the barista.

“What can I get for you?” she asked.

“Aye, since it’s too early in the marnin’ fer Poitín, I’ll a coffee, love. None of that rawny ponce shite, I’ll just take it black.”

“Of course, sir. Could I have your name?”

“Whatdya need me name for?” he asked, resting his hip against the counter. He crossed his arms and peered down at her.

The young barista appeared flustered as she quickly pulled a cup from the stand. “Helps us keep track of the orders, sir.”

His heavy brow raised. “D’ye need me birth certificate as well?” he asked in an imperious tone.

“Just a name,” the girl’s marker poised at his paper cup.

“Me name’s Liam Byrnes, love. That alright fer ya?”

Antonia gasped. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

She hadn’t realized how loud she was. The man’s face whipped around and locked eyes on her. “You said it, dearie. Y’need a feckin’ form to fill outta form these days.”

Antonia couldn’t speak. She could only look from one man to the next. Aiden stared daggers at the man whom Antonia assumed he’d called da when he was a boy. Liam, unfazed by them, finished his transaction and joined the American family to wait on his drink.