Page 130 of What If I Knew You

It’s just after dawn when I enter Dad’s house with two glasses of coffee and a couple pastries from his favorite bakery around the corner. I’m not in the kitchen more than ten minutes gathering plates and napkins for us both before Dad walks in and sees me sitting at the table.

“Corrigan? When did you get here?”

“Few minutes ago,” I tell him. “I brought coffee and pastries from Louise’s Bakery. The kind you like.” I gesture to the seat next to me. “Sit.”

I see the trepidation in his eyes. He can’t tell if he’s about to be ripped a new ass crack or if I’m here to make nice. I suppose up until a few minutes ago, even I wasn’t sure.

I’m still not.

But I have to say what needs to be said.

I watch Dad while he sits and reaches for the coffee I brought him and then I take a sip of mine as he sips his.

“Mmm. Thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome.”

I hold back a moment, hoping that maybe Dad will start this much needed conversation but he doesn’t. So, in his place, I simply state, “I love him, Dad.”

And then I wait.

He bows his head and takes another slow sip of his coffee, turning my words over in his head before he responds. “Tell me everything.”

“What would you like to know?”

Finally, his eyes meet mine. “For starters, I’d like to know how you met.”

Reaching for the box of pastries, I tell him, “Actually that was all your fault.”

“My fault?”

“I sent you a text message months ago about leaving leftover spaghetti for you in the fridge. Remember that?”

“Vaguely.”

“Well, the text you got was actually my second attempt. My first attempt never got to you because I sent it to the wrong number.”

His brows furrow. “Okay…”

“And then that wrong number answered me. And we texted back and forth about food.” I rip a piece of the orange cranberry scone I picked for myself off and toss it into my mouth. “We talked back and forth via text for days having no idea who each other was.”

“You never told him your name? He never told you his?”

“I told him my name was Corri.” I shrug. “Everybody calls me Corri. You call me Corri. Plus, it meant I wasn’t giving my full name…you know, in case he was a creeper.”

Dad actually chuckles at that comment. “Smart girl.”

“Dad, I didn’t know Bodhi was Bodhi until the night we decided to meet for the first time. He told me his name was Alan, which is his?—”

“Middle name,” he says, nodding.

“Yeah. The night we met, he gave me zero indication that he knew who I was, and why would he? I spent the last few years in London so he wouldn’t know who I am.”

“But you knew who he was.”

I cock my head. “Dad, am I your daughter or am I your daughter? Of course, I knew who he was immediately. I could’ve rattled his stats off to him faster than he probably could’ve told me himself.”

“That’s the truth.” He laughs again and I breathe a little easier hoping that maybe I’m getting somewhere with him. Maybe I’m lightening the tension.

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