The strange thing about seeing both of my parents again after eight years was that neither of them recognized me, even though I was standing three feet away with a reservation book in my hand.
Chapter 1
My mother came through the doors of the Harbor House just before five on a hot June afternoon, dressed in white linen and holding the arm of a girl about my age. The girl was pretty in the expensive, effortless way that took a surprising amount of effort—fresh highlights, manicured nails, a little gold necklace resting above the neckline of her dress.
“We have the Sullivan room,” Mom told me. “Party of twelve. It should be under Denise Calloway.”
I found the reservation.
“Congratulations dinner?” I asked.
Mom smiled at the girl beside her. “My daughter, Alyssa, got a 1520 on her SAT and graduated with honors. We’re celebrating properly.”
My daughter.
I wrote down the room number without looking at her.
“Congratulations,” I said.
Alyssa barely glanced at me.
Mom was halfway toward the private dining rooms when the front doors opened again.
My father walked in carrying a bakery box, with a seven-year-old boy hopping beside him in a Spider-Man T-shirt. Dad had more gray at his temples than I remembered. Otherwise, he looked exactly the same.
He didn’t recognize me either.
“We’ve got the Bay room,” he said. “Birthday party. Earl Holloway.”
The Bay room was directly beside Mom’s.
For one second, my parents saw each other across the lobby.
Mom’s smile tightened.
Dad cleared his throat.
“Well,” Mom said. “Small world.”
“Apparently.”
The boy tugged on Dad’s hand. “Can I open my presents now?”
“After dinner, Robbie.” Dad ruffled his hair. “You’ll survive another hour.”
I had never seen him touch anyone so gently.
Mom looked at the cake box. “Big party for seven.”
Dad gave a stiff laugh. “You know how kids are.”
“Alyssa’s graduation dinner.”
“I heard. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
Dad nodded toward Alyssa. “Bright future.”
Mom beamed.
I stood between them with my pen resting against the reservation book.
Neither asked my name.
Mom ordered extra shrimp because Alyssa loved it. Dad handed me a homemade chocolate cake and warned me twice not to tilt the box because Robbie had helped decorate it.
I carried it to the kitchen myself.
At six, my manager found me filling water pitchers.
“Kathleen, we’ve got a problem in Sullivan. Balloon arch came loose. They want somebody to apologize.”
Of course they did.
I wiped my hands on my apron and followed him.
Before I opened the door, I heard Mom’s voice.
“Don’t let it ruin your night, sweetheart. We’ll stop at the Apple Store tomorrow. You need a new laptop for college anyway.”
“And a phone?”
“If you want.”
“And the tablet?”
Mom laughed. “We’ll see.”
I looked down at my sneakers. They had once been blue canvas, but Grandma had taught me that a little bleach could make worn things look respectable. I’d stretched the same pair through most of senior year.
Rent wasn’t an issue yet because I still lived in Grandma’s condo. Food was. The electric bill was. Everything felt like a calculation now that she was gone.
I opened the door.
“I’m sorry about the decorations,” I said. “That was our mistake. We’ll fix it right away.”
A woman near the end of the table laughed and told her teenage son, “See? This is why you need to study. Otherwise you wind up apologizing to people for a living.”
A few people chuckled.
Mom put an arm around Alyssa.
“This one won’t have to worry. She’s always been driven.”
I studied the carpet.
When I was fourteen, I’d gotten into one of the most competitive public high schools in the county. I had borrowed Grandma’s phone to tell Mom.
Her answer had come ten minutes later.
That’s nice, Kathleen. I’m happy now. Please don’t complicate things.
I’d stared at those words until Grandma quietly took the phone from me.
“You don’t have to keep knocking on a door somebody keeps locking,” she’d said.
At fourteen, I hadn’t understood how a person stopped knocking.
At eighteen, I finally did.
I fixed the balloons and escaped into the hall, only to hear someone call from the room next door.
“Miss? Could we get help with the cake?”
Dad was kneeling beside Robbie when I entered. The boy wore a paper crown while Dad tried to light seven candles without setting the cardboard Spider-Man decoration on fire.
“Hold still, buddy.”
“You’re doing it wrong!”
“Then apparently I raised a cake expert.”
Robbie laughed so hard he nearly fell sideways. Dad caught him before his head hit the table.
The movement was automatic.
Careful.
Fatherly.
It hurt more than cruelty would have.
When I was five, Dad had forgotten about my mango allergy and given me fruit salad at a cookout. When I was eight, he’d missed my school conference because he’d written the wrong date on his calendar.
Three months ago, Grandma died while I was away at an academic competition.
Dad was the emergency contact listed at the hospital.
He hadn’t known the name of my school.
By the time anyone found me, Grandma had already been buried.
For years I’d thought he was careless.
Watching him protect Robbie’s head from the corner of a table, I finally understood.
He was capable of remembering.
Just not for me.
I slipped out while everyone sang.
The door clicked behind me.
“Kathleen?”
That voice stopped me.
I turned.
Ethan Parker stood in the hallway with a gift bag in one hand.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Ethan and I had grown up two blocks apart. Grandma used to call him my shadow. He’d helped me study for chemistry, sat with me in the hospital waiting room when Grandma’s cancer returned, and kissed me for the first time behind the football bleachers in April.
That afternoon he had texted me.
Family thing tonight. Sorry. I’ll call you tomorrow.
Alyssa opened Mom’s door.
“There you are.”
She smiled at him with a familiarity that made my stomach go cold.
“You’re late.”
“Traffic.”
He handed her the bag.
She peeked inside and grinned. “You actually got it.”
Ethan looked at me.
“Kathleen, I can explain.”
Alyssa’s smile faded.
She looked from him to me, then back again.
“Wait.”
Her eyes widened.
“You’re Kathleen Holloway?”
Before I could answer, she turned toward the room.
“Mom?”
Mom appeared in the doorway.
For the first time all evening, she really looked at me.
Her face changed.
“Oh,” she said.
Not Kathleen.
Not honey.
Just oh.
Alyssa folded her arms. “She’s your daughter?”
Mom glanced at the apron, the damp hair stuck to my forehead, the sneakers.
“You’ve grown,” she said. “I didn’t recognize you.”
“I noticed.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Working.”
Her eyes dropped to my uniform.
Something like embarrassment crossed her face.
“Tonight?”
“I usually work nights.”
“Well, this is awkward.” She lowered her voice. “We’re celebrating Alyssa. I don’t want some big scene.”
“I wasn’t planning one.”
“You can see your father. He’s next door.”
She actually knocked on his door.
“Earl? Kathleen’s here.”
Dad stepped into the hallway.
He stared at me.
“What are you doing here?”
“I work here.”
“Tonight’s Robbie’s birthday.”
“I know.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “There are a lot of people inside. Whatever you need, maybe tomorrow would be better.”
Mom crossed her arms. “Why are you assuming she needs something from you?”
“Well, she’s your daughter too.”
“You’re her father.”
And there it was.
Eight years gone, and they were still passing me between them like a bill neither one remembered ordering.
I took off my name tag.
“Relax,” I said. “I didn’t come for either of you.”
Dad frowned.
Mom’s mouth opened.
But for once, neither had anything to say.
