“You’re an adult now,” she had said with a firmness that left no room for discussion. “You’ll figure things out.”
My father had stood behind her silently, arms crossed, as though the conversation had already been settled long before I walked into the room.
I left that night with sixty dollars, a backpack, and a promise to myself that if I survived the next decade, I would never ask them for anything again.
And for ten years, they never called.
Not once.
Now their name sat calmly on the reservation list like a ghost that had decided to attend dinner.
Meredith watched my expression carefully.
“You want to cancel it?” she asked quietly.
I shook my head.
“No,” I said after a moment. “They can eat.”
The restaurant opened at five-thirty.
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