Roscoe nodded, a little more hopefully. “Yeah. I go to AA meetings when I can, but… it’s a little tricky in the restaurant business. I work nights, mostly. But I, uh… I just got my seven-year bronze medallion. Actually…” He reached into the pocket of his slacks, rummaging. “Here, I’ve got it on me.”

He pulled a bronze coin out of his pocket and set it on the table in front of me. It sounded heavy, landing with a thick clunk. Around the outer edge, it read, To thine own self be true, and featured a triangle at the center with a word at each side—unity and service and recovery. Inside the triangle was the Roman numeral VII.

I didn’t know shit about AA medallions, but this looked pretty legit to me.

I nodded sternly, trying hard not to look impressed.

“Anyway,” he said, grabbing the coin, pocketing it, “I know these are all just words, and words are nothing without the actions to back them up. I don’t expect you to let me back into your life. I don’t expect anything from you. But I’m honored that you would even think to come here and have this conversation with me. I know… I know it wasn’t easy. It’s probably not easy to even look at me. But I’m grateful. Thank you, Wynonna.”

Okay. I knew it was a little premature to make judgments, but I already kind of liked this Roscoe guy. At least, for the time being, I had determined he wasn’t a “total piece of shit.”

On to Phase Two.

“Look,” I said. “I obviously have a lot of anger about what happened. And I’ll tell you right now: You’re catching me on a good day. Tomorrow might not be a good day. Tomorrow, I might want to punch you in the face.”

Roscoe nodded rather acceptingly at this revelation.

“The truth is,” I said, “I feel like there are two people inside of me. One of those people wants this to work out. Wants to give you a chance. Maybe even have a real father-daughter relationship with you.”

Roscoe’s entire countenance flickered, lighting up.

“The other person inside me wants to murder you in your sleep,” I said.

Roscoe’s “lighting up” process pulled back hard on the reins. Reeled it back in to a reasonable dim glow.

He went back to nodding, accepting the terms of his fate.

“I’m not sure if I’ll be able to have that relationship with you,” I said, finally. “But I’d like to try. Maybe we can take it slow? One day at a time?”

Roscoe was a dog, and I had just thrown him the greatest fucking stick of his life. He would have chased that stick off a cliff. He perked up, and he was trying so hard not to lose his shit with joy, and he was so totally failing.