Mia Alexander
FaceTime? It’s not about that.
Makenna Alexander
Give me two minutes to get back to my office.
Macy Alexander
Already calling you.
Incoming FaceTime:M&M&M
Their faces fill my screen. Macy is adjusting her camera while balancing what looks suspiciously like a full champagne flute and Makenna, now back in her sleek office, already has one brow cocked in suspicion.
“Okay, we’re here,” Makenna says, tugging off her blazer and draping it over the back of her chair before sitting down. “If this isn’t about that insane article, what’s up? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Not so much seen one as heard one,” I mumble, suddenly less sure about diving into this with them.
“Care to elaborate?” Macy prods.
I hesitate. But the concern in their eyes, the look that tells me they’re the only ones on earth who will know exactly what I’m feeling at this moment, gives me the nudge I need.
“I got a call,” I say. “From Dad.”
Dead silence. Macy freezes mid-sip of her champagne. Makenna blinks as if she isn’t sure she heard me right.
“Wait—ourdad?” Macy finally asks.
“As in, Byron?” Makenna says slowly. “Are you serious?”
I nod and brace myself to tell this story for the third time now.
“Last night after the beach club show. He didn’t even leave a real message, just mumbled something about seeing one of the tour videos and not recognizing me at first.”
“Wow,” Makenna scoffs. “I didn’t even get a call when I made partner at the firm. Gone for what, almost two decades, and now he’s curious because you’re on a fucking stage?”
Macy leans forward on her screen. “What did he want?”
“Nothing, really. It was awkward. Just said to call him back… if I wanted.”
That part always seems to hit everyone the hardest.
“If youwanted,” Makenna echoes, her voice sharp. “Like you owe himanythingnow?”
I shrug. “I don’t know how I feel. I’m angry, a little sick… I haven’t heard his voice since I was a kid.”
There’s a beat of silence before Macy, uncharacteristically serious, asks, “Do you… want to call him back?”
“Part of me wants to scream at him. Part of me wants to ask why now—where the hell he’s been. But mostly, I just feel like… he doesn’t get to do this now. I don’t want to know how he’s doing. I don’t want to know what he’s been doing for the last eighteen years. I hate that he’s making it my choice.”
Makenna sighs. “You don’t owe him anything, Mia. We all made it without him—you especially. He doesn’t get to swoop in and take credit now.”
I hear the tension in her voice. It’s my biggest fear that they’d be upset with how, out of the three of us, he’d chosen to call me.
“Kenna, are you… Are you mad that he called me?”
“No,” she says quickly. “God, no. I’m sorry he chose you to try to make a statement with. It’s just… disbelief.”
