“You should think about doing that professionally,” he says helpfully. This makes me laugh. I can’t help it.

“Yeah?” I say. “Maybe I will someday.”

“Listen, is something bothering you?” Nick asks. “You’ve been sort of quiet. Is it the apartment? Or did I do something?”

“No,” I say. “I really appreciate the apartment. And it’s not you.”

“Then what is it?” Nick says. “You can talk to me if something’s wrong, you know.”

I think about it for a minute. I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure I’m ready for the truth. But the longer I’m here, away from the world I know, the lonelier I feel. It would be nice to tell someone my story. At least part of it.

“Nick, I came here to find my dad,” I finally say. Nick looks surprised, but he nods, waiting for me to go on. I study his face for a moment then continue. “Well, I found him. He was the emcee of the open-mic night tonight.” Nick just stares at me for a moment.

“That Mecham’s Music guy?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say simply.

“But he didn’t act like he was your dad,” Nick says slowly.

“He doesn’t recognize me,” I say. I look at Nick miserably. “I’ve seen him twice since I got here, and he doesn’t know me.”

“Wait, wait,” Nick says, looking confused. “I don’t understand.”

For a moment, I look at my lap and think about what to say. I glance back up at Nick.

“I thought for a long time that my father walked out on my mom and me when I was three years old. Then, last week, someone gave me a letter that he’d written to me. I confronted my mom about it and found out he’d been writing to me once a month for the last six years.”

Nick stares at me in silence for a moment.

“What?” he finally asks incredulously. “And your mom was keeping the letters from you?”

I nod.

“That’s terrible!” he exclaims.

“I just can’t believe he doesn’t recognize me,” I confess. “I mean, isn’t a parent supposed to be able to pick his child out of a crowd? Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to work?”

“Well, obviously you look really different now than when you were three.”

“But he’s seen me since then,” I say without thinking about it. “My picture, at least. All the time.”

“What do you mean?” Nick asks. I look at him quickly. Oops. I almost slipped.

“Never mind,” I say. I don’t know what I was looking for, exactly. Comfort? Advice? But Nick is just sitting there. I feel stupid. Then he takes a deep breath and looks resolutely at me.

“You have to tell him,” he says.

“What?”

“You have to tell him who you are.”