He looks toward the door, raising his eyebrows when he spots my dad. Our booth is tucked away in the corner of the room so it isn’t as easy for my father to see us as it is for us to see him.
“Right. Maybe his thing was cancelled?”
“Maybe, but why would he come all the way out here? It’s a pretty big detour between the airport and home”
“True.”
“Well, I’m going to go over to say hi, then forbid him from moving in on our new secret spot,” I say with a chuckle as I slide toward Jordan, who has to stand to let me out of the booth.
“Okay.” He laughs. “I’ll go with you,”
I reach for my phone, only to spot it wedged between the seat and the wall and have to climb back across the booth to get it. By the time I’m on my feet again, I notice Jordan isn’t moving, his eyes fixed on the front of the store. My father is still in the same place I last saw him, only now he isn’t alone. A woman who doesn’t look to be much older than I am is standing next to him with a glimmering smile. Her black hair falls in ringlets, framing her fully made up face. She’s wearing a pair of painted-on leggings and a crop top that shows off her flat stomach and more cleavage than necessary. I can’t tell if she’s about to go work out or if she thinks this is a fashionable look, but she sticks out like a rusty nail.
He stands in front of her and my heart drops as I watch him gently push her hair behind her ear before clasping her hand and walking with her toward the counter.
What the hell?
Slowly, I descend back to my seat. Jordan follows, and immediately begins talking before he turns to look at me.
"Do you know her?" He's trying to play it cool but I can hear the concern in his voice.
"No," I say as I watch my father and the woman place their orders before walking toward a table tucked away on the other side of the small cafe. My head is racing to come up with a logical explanation. My palms feel sticky. His meeting was cancelled. The lady is his long lost sister, or a niece. One who he just connected with and he’s bringing home to meet us. That’s the answer. The only fucking answer because the logical one can’t be true. It would mean he lied to us. Has been lying to us. That he’s a lying sack of shit who drove outside of the city to meet some coffee shop whore and cheat on my mother.
I can't take my eyes off of them. They are sitting across from each other, talking like no one else is in the room, like no one else can see this. Jordan must sense my blood boiling because before I can speak I feel his hand wrap around mine. He speaks in an even tone.
"It doesn't mean anything until it does." I stop staring at them long enough to look at Jordan. He sits down, reclaiming his spot next to me. Small creases appear between his brows as he holds me in a warm gaze. "Don't jump to conclusions.” My body is still rigid with tension but Jordan’s words, or his voice really, start to penetrate a little.
Still, everything in me wants to walk over to the table and grill my father. Find out who she is and why they are here. But fear paralyzes me. Because I know that if I find out that this is the worst case scenario, my world will explode. The world where my father is my hero, my Superman. The man who fell asleep on the back porch holding a tennis racket because my mom was terrified of raccoons getting inside when their kitchen was being redone last year. The man who'd wake me up to eat cupcakes under the stars when his job had him travelling on my birthday. The man who never missed a night to tuck me in when I was little. That man, he'd be gone. I’m a grown woman, almost twenty-one years old now, but the idea of my parents splitting up makes me feel like a child. Maybe it’s because all of these memories would be tarnished with the undercut of how it ended.
“Xia.” Jordan’s smooth voice rings in my ears, breaking through my racing thoughts as he squeezes my hand again. “Look at me,” he says, placing two fingers on my chin and tilting my face toward his. It takes me a minute to tear my eyes from my father and this rusty whore, but when I do, I’m met with Jordan’s calming gaze. I don’t know what to think about what I’m seeing. I don’t know what to do about it either. Then there’s Jordan, sitting so close, holding my face. My skin is crawling and warming at the same time and it’s just too much. I slide back in the booth a few inches, just enough to break the connection. “It doesn’t mean anything until it does,” he repeats.
My lips move slightly as I try to find words to respond, but instead of my mouth opening, my eyes widen and I stare at Jordan as panic floods my chest.
“Come on, Zee.” He leans forward, placing a hand on both of my shoulders. “Your parents are the happiest couple I’ve ever seen, maybe even happier than my parents were before my mother died. My pops credits your dad for being the reason he didn’t fuck things up with my mom early on. He said watching your dad show him what having a good thing really looked like was key, he’s the most standup guy I know. There must be an explanation for this.”
My eyes scroll Jordan’s face. I know he’s hoping this isn’t real just as much as I am. Jordan and my dad are hella close. Our fathers have been best friends since college, which is the reason Jordan and I were pretty much raised together. My father suddenly turning into a lying asshole would put a strain on our little family, and with us all just getting over the shock of his mother, Lisa, passing away last year, it’s just… too much.
It takes everything I have not to look back at my father’s table. I want to know if they are sitting closer, if he’s touching her, if she’s staring into his eyes or if they seem more casual. To make all this worse, the girl looks young enough to be a college student. Maybe a senior. Why would he cheat on my mother with a student? He’s had a long career in education, and besides our family his career is his only other passion. It doesn’t make sense that he would jeopardize that.
Jordan is still touching me, though he’s adjusted a bit. He’s no longer gripping my shoulders. One of his hands has fallen to his lap and the other one is placed gently on my arm.
“You’re right,” I say, taking a deep breath. This is my father. I know him, we know him. My parents are still in love. I came home to do laundry just the other day and walked in on them making out on the couch like teenagers. It was gross, of course, but still… they are in love. He wouldn’t do this to my mother.
“This can’t be what it seems.” I nod resolutely and Jordan mirrors my motion, but I can still see a small line of worry in the crease of his eyes.
“Exactly. Why don’t you just text him and see what he says?”
“I’ll do one better, I’ll call him.” With shaking hands, I grip my phone and press my pointer on the fingerprint scanner to unlock it. Dad always answers my calls, always, even if it’s just to tell me he has to call me back. No matter how often I tell him to just ignore the call and text me instead, he picks up, arguing that texts are too impersonal and “we kids” will wake up one day and forget how to hold a proper conversation.
Jordan leans back, folding his arms across his chest as he watches me. I clear my throat and scroll through my contacts until I see my dad, then I look back over to his table. Dad smiles at the woman adoringly, then reaches over and places his hand in hers. My eyes find Jordan’s again and I hit send. It rings once. Then twice. Then a third time. My heart begins to pound. Jordan breaks our stare and looks over to my father and I do the same. Dad's looking down at the table but I can’t tell if he’s looking at his phone or not. By the time the fifth ring happens and his voicemail picks up, my eyes are welling with tears.