to. He talks about his house in Malibu (he’s getting new windows this year), the struggle of owning two homes (“It’s the maintenance that’ll kill you”), and how he’d read a script for a new superhero film, but they’d decided to go with someone “edgier” (my read: younger).
Driving gives me something to do, and I think I ooh and ahh in all the appropriate places, happy to let him talk because it means that I don’t have to, but also because even after all these years, I’m still needy enough to want every little piece of information I can get.
We park in the center of town, but quickly realize that strolling around in daylight is not going to be possible. We get stopped for an autograph before we’ve even gotten out of the car. Instead, Dad enters the address to the lunch spot in his GPS, and we navigate to a sweet white farmhouse with a red door. A wooden sign displays the name Trillium Café.
“Althea told me to take you here,” he says in a way that makes me preemptively sympathetic for Althea in the event that this restaurant turns out to be only mediocre.
“It looks cute.” In the distance, the sky has grown gloomy, with clouds creeping over the tips of the evergreens and resting heavily on the shingled roof.
But inside it smells like fresh bread and wood polish. A woman with a long braid swallows her reaction admirably and leads us to a booth toward the back of the main dining room. A couple turns in their seats as we pass, and I give a small wave and smile.
Our booth extends out from a window overlooking a wide yard of unruly grass and, farther back, a thick line of pine trees. It’s breathtaking.
Dad frowns down at the menu. “I want gnocci.” His frown turns into a smile when he looks up at me. “I’ll probably order a salad.”
My laugh is too loud. “Gnocci is my favorite, too.”
“Is it?” His smile flattens, and I sense that I’m trying too hard.
“Excited to get home?” I ask.
“Sure.” He scans the menu one more time and flips it closed again. “I had some work done in the backyard. I’m excited to see how it turned out.”
A waitress fills our water glasses, lists the specials of the day, and then makes sure to mention which of Dad’s films is her favorite.
He grins brightly at her and leans in as if to confide. “That’s my favorite, too.”
She’s beaming. Dad orders wine, we both order food, and once she’s gone, he rolls his eyes. “I judge everyone who tells me Cowboy Rising is their favorite. If you like disjointed trash, I can’t help you.”
Wow. I bite my tongue and squash my inclination to remind him that most of his early career is based on “disjointed trash.”
“Does Marissa live nearby?” I ask instead.
He blinks up to me over the rim of his water glass. “What?”
“Marissa,” I repeat. “Does she live near you?”
He takes a sip of water. “Oh. Yeah, she has an apartment near school, but she usually stays at my place.” He winks and I don’t know why, but it’s a little gross. “More space.”
“So things are serious between you two?”
The surprise registers on his face; I’ve never asked about girlfriends like this before. The waitress comes with our salads and the wine, giving him time to either formulate an answer or change the subject when she leaves.
But he doesn’t dodge the conversation like I expected. “I’m not sure I’d say we’re serious,” he says. “She’s finishing her degree and . . . we’re good friends.”
Something snags in my thoughts, a bite of curiosity I’ve never given space before. “Why do you think you never remarried? You and Mom broke up so long ago.”
If anything, he seems to have expected this follow-up. He answers without hesitation. “I don’t think there’s one specific reason. Relationships are hard in this line of work. The schedule can be hectic, and it’s hard to know what someone’s true intentions are.” He points his fork at me. “Not that I need to explain any of that to you, of course.”
What on earth does that mean? I weigh my next words carefully.
“Most of my relationships have been for PR anyway,” I admit. “Always seemed easier that way.”
“Yes and no.” He takes a bite, chews, and holds my gaze as if he wants me to know he’s not done making this point. “Both have their drawbacks, but it’s probably easier when