Page 95 of Negotiating Tactics

I took a deep breath and then started again. “You know, after what he did,” I said.

Birdie gave me a look, one that I didn’t quite understand.

“What is that look?” I said, lasering in on her reaction.

“I don’t have anything to say,” Birdie said.

I shook my head. “Oh, hell no.” I smiled then looked at Aunt Clem. “Sorry, Auntie.” I looked back at Birdie, determined not to let her get away. “You obviously think something, so go ahead and say it,” I pushed.

Birdie arched a brow, the expression familiar, the one that told me she was thinking, weighing exactly what to say next. But knowing my best friend, I had no doubt she would tell me exactly what she thought, though she would choose her words with care. “Well, as far as I see it, Noah did you a favor. There, I said it.”

“You know, you sound just like you-know-who right now,” I said, pointing a thumb at Aunt Clem, trying to ignore the constriction in my chest.

Aunt Clem laughed. “If you-know-who is me, you’re right, and she sounds like me because I’m right. That no good daddy of yours took the money. That proves that he wasn’t worth your time to begin with.”

Of all the people I’d known, few were as good-natured as Aunt Clem. None of that showed now. She was as serious as I’d ever seen her, even when she’d been in the hospital.

“He’s my father,” I said weakly.

“Exactly, which means that nothing, least of all a few pieces of silver, should have been able to keep him away from you. But,” Birdie said, “you know what. Never mind.”

“No, go ahead,” I said.

“No, Alex. I don’t want to cross any more lines than I already have or say something that’s going to affect our friendship. Because I’m here for you no matter what. So we don’t have to talk about it,” Birdie said.

I looked at her then sighed.

“That’s why you’re my best friend.”

“Why is that?” she said.

“Because you tell me shit even when I don’t want to hear it. And it sounds like this has been on your mind for a minute. I couldn’t possibly feel any worse than I already do, so let’s get it all out on the table.”

“I don’t want this to affect our friendship,” she repeated.

“You think you can get rid of me?” I said.

Birdie smiled, then walked around the eight-person table to sit beside me.

Aunt Clem was a few chairs down, but I could still feel her compassion.

I looked at Birdie, and she squeezed my hand.

“I haven’t wanted to say anything because I know how much emotion is wrapped up with your dad. Especially after Ms. Angela passed,” Birdie said.

I started to tear up then, thinking about how much of a wreck I had been after I lost my mother.

Thinking about how it hadn’t been my father who had comforted me.

No, that had been Birdie and Aunt Clem, and for all these years since I’d lost her, they had stayed by my side.

“Go ahead,” I said.

Birdie smiled at me, the expression full of the angst I felt, and reached for my hand. “Alex, he hurts you. He might not mean to do it, but no matter what, you get the short end of the stick. I don’t know why he does what he does, or if he’s even aware of it, but he treats you worse than I would treat a stranger.”

“He has never hurt me,” I countered.

I sounded feeble, weak, but the reflexive desire to protect him, the need to cling to the hope that had been there my entire life, was impossible.

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