Coffee Cup Confessions - Trish Williford Page 0,64
moved out. I feel guilty now for the thoughts I had toward him, growing up, although he now says he regrets missing out on so much of our childhood.
“What’s on your mind, kiddo?”
I bring my knees to my chest and hug them close to me. “Nothing really.”
Dad pushes his glasses down the bridge of his nose and scowls at me over them. “Bullshit. Spill it. Whatever it is wasn’t solved earlier upstairs with Mandy.”
A snort escapes my nose, and I rest my chin on my knee. My dad has always been straight to the point and never beats around the bush.
“It’s Jake. We broke up.”
Dad leans back in his chair, resting his interlocked hands on his stomach. “I had a feeling. You haven’t been yourself. Why did you tell your mom that he was working?”
“Because I didn’t want to talk about it.”
“You are now.”
“You’re not her. Mom tends to dig a little too deep, although she means well.”
Dad nods. “Fair enough. Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“It’s complicated, Dad.”
He smirks. “I’m a lawyer. Try me.”
“He failed to mention a fairly large part of his life to me. I found out from a different source. When I asked him if it was true, he said yes. We broke up.”
“Did he give you his side of the story?”
“No … I really didn’t give him the opportunity.”
He frowns, which isn’t good. “What have I always told you kids?”
“Everyone has the right to tell their side, regardless,” I huff the words like a child who’s being scolded.
“Exactly. You never received all the facts. Jake deserves his chance to talk. You owe him the courtesy to listen.”
“He should have been courteous from the beginning and told me everything. He lied to me.”
“No, he didn’t. Did he ever once deny the allegations?”
“No, but it was a lie by omission!”
Dad smiles brightly. “I always said you had lawyer in your blood and not sugar.”
“Dad …”
“Seriously, Misha, just hear him out. If anything, for closure for you. It might help you move on.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
He gives me a confident nod. “Just give him the chance to tell his story. I know you’ll do the right thing. And when you do, you’ll feel better.”
29
Misha
Tonight is the night that Drew and I have been waiting on for months.
Tonight, we’ll see Fallen Shadows.
More importantly, we’ll see Bryson freaking Henderson.
We took the metro into Washington, DC, earlier this afternoon and visited a few of the monuments before the show.
Drew is a nervous Nellie every time we go to concerts. Even though we have our own assigned seats, he likes to get in line for the show early, so he can beat the crowd getting in to the venue. We always have to follow his concert routine once in the doors—go to the restroom, hit the merchandise stand, grab a beer, and find his seat. Usually, it slightly annoys me, but today, I don’t care. Today is Bryson day.
Drew leans against the brick wall of the theater, and I sit on the hard concrete ground. He’s getting antsy, and I glare at him.
“Look, it’s your idea to stand in line hours before the show starts because you like to get through the doors early.”
“I’m starving. I need something to eat before going into the show. Otherwise, I might jump onstage and take a bite out of Bryson,” Drew whines.
Never doubt a word Drew says.
“There is a diner down the street. I’ll hold our place. Just bring me back a sandwich or something.”
Once those words leave my mouth, he’s halfway down the block. Glancing down at my phone, I realize Drew has two hours to bring back food before the doors are scheduled to open. One hundred and twenty minutes … not that I’m counting.
Eighty-four minutes to go … Drew had better bring me my food.
Fifty-one minutes to go … Drew is going to die.
Twenty-seven minutes to go … and I see Drew running toward me with a plastic bag in his hand.
“I’m sorry, Misha!” he yells from afar, causing the entire line to look at him like he’s a crazy person.
Snatching the bag from him, I rip open the Styrofoam container and take a huge bite of the cheeseburger, moaning as it covers my taste buds. “I want to kick your ass for making me wait over an hour and a half for food,” I say with a full mouth.
He sits down beside me, eyeing my French fries. “I’m sorry. I met a really cool guy, and he invited me