Page 97 of Break Me

The menus are more tradition than necessity. Dad flips it open anyway, giving it his full attention. I skim mine just long enough to confirm nothing's changed before setting it back down. I already know what I'm having, and I'm pretty sure he does too.

Marge wanders over before we've even settled on what we're ordering, caraffe in hand. She's been working here for as long as I can remember, her hair piled high and her lipstick always just a shade brighter than anyone else's. Without asking, she tops off Dad's mug before setting a fresh cup in front of me.

“Well, look at you,” she says, smiling. “Marriage looks good on you.”

Heat creeps up my neck, and I laugh a little, caught off guard. “I think it agrees with me, too,” I reply.

She hums approvingly, then turns her attention to my dad, one eyebrow lifting. “And you’re still breaking my heart, I see.”

He exhales like he’s been waiting for it. “I came here to eat,” he says. “Not to be harassed.”

“Dad,” I say, half laughing, half warning. “Be nice.”

Marge just grins, undeterred. “I can flirt and pour coffee at the same time. I’m talented like that.”

He sighs, long-suffering. “I’m not your type.”

“Give it time,” she says cheerfully, setting the carafe down as the tension eases, just a notch.

I bite my lip to keep from smiling.

“You want your usual?” she asks him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, resigned.

“And you,” she says, turning to me. “Still trying to convince yourself you don’t want the pancakes?”

“I’ll regret it if I don’t,” I admit.

“Smart girl.” She scribbles something down and gives my dad a look that lingers just long enough to be obvious. “You let me know when you’re ready to stop being stubborn.”

“Won’t happen,” he says.

She laughs like that’s exactly what she expected and moves on.

I watch her go, then look back at him. “You know,” I say gently, “she’s harmless.”

He snorts. “She’s relentless.”

“Mom’s been gone five years,” I say, careful but honest. “She wouldn’t want you alone forever.”

He looks down at his coffee, stirring it one too many times. “I’m not alone,” he says. “I’ve got you.”

I reach across the table and cover his hand. “You can have more than that.”

He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t say anything either. He squeezes my fingers once and lets go.

The food arrives a few moments later, giving us something else to focus on.

“So,” he says once we’re settled. “How’s it been up there?”

“Perfect,” I say. Then I let myself really answer. “The mornings are quiet and slow. There’s no internet pulling at you, no noise competing for your attention. Nothing telling you where you’re supposed to be next.”

I pause, then keep going.

“And at night, the dark feels big. The stars are everywhere. There are so many of them. It feels impossible to take it all in.”

Dad sets his fork down, eyes staying on me. Listening and actually hearing me.