“Always,” he says. He stares at me for a minute more, then shakes his head again. “Star—Amanda, I mean—I want you to meet my wife and daughter. I mean, they’re your family too. I want you to know your sister.”

“My sister,” I echo. It’s a weird thought. I’ve been an only child all my life. Or at least I thought I was. How strange to know there’s another child out there who’s my own flesh and blood. Half, anyhow.

He picks up a framed photo from his desk and holds it out to me. The little girl in the picture has wispy blond hair and a crooked smile with a missing front tooth. I’ve never seen her before. But she looks familiar. She looks like me. She has the same stormy green eyes my dad and I have. “Her name’s Alison. She’s in kindergarten.”

I feel sad as I hand the photo back to him. Did he used to hand people my picture when I was a little girl? Or did he forget about me as soon as he was gone? The thought hurts.

“She’s really cute,” I say, knowing it’s crazy to be jealous of this innocent little girl. But she has the childhood I never got to have. A normal home with her mom and dad. My dad.

“So how about it?” my father asks. “Can you come over for dinner tonight? At, say, six? I’ll call Lynda—that’s my wife—and tell her. Can you?”

“Yes,” I say instantly. “Of course. I’d love to.”

He jots down his address for me. I don’t tell him I already have it, that I’ve already been there, standing outside imagining what my life would be like if I lived there with him. Then he gets up and walks me toward the door. I’m a little surprised our meeting is over. I had somehow envisioned him taking the whole rest of the day off to talk to me, to catch up with me, maybe even to take a walk in a park or playground to reminisce. But I guess that was unrealistic.

“Star,” my father says. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you again.”

“Me too,” I say. My heart pounds as he approaches me. We’re about to hug for the first time in thirteen years. I’m about to hug my father. My own dad. I never thought this day would come.

“Nice to see you,” my father says, extending his hand. I stare at it for a moment, not quite sure what to do. A handshake? He’s going to shake my hand? I feel suddenly breathless. I reach a trembling hand out and slip it into his. His big hand wraps around my little one, and he pumps it up and down enthusiastically. “I’ll see you tonight for dinner.”