Chapter 232

“Do you think we could talk about something?” I ask Dad a few weeks later, sitting across from him at the Railroad Station. He's barely touched his peanut butter and syrup soaked waffles and seems a million miles away.

He blinks like he's coming to and turns to look at me, putting on a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. I exhale and curl my fingers around my fork. The smell of fresh coffee and maple syrup calms my nerves, but this is still a hard question to ask.

“Are you still …” Ugh, this is going to be harder than I thought, isn't it?

“Am I still what?” he asks, setting his fork down and picking up his coffee. The plastic tablecloth is sticky, the place crowded, but it's the soft murmur of voices and the clink of cutlery that makes me feel at home. Dad and I have been eating here for years.

Going to Bornstead … I'll be a million miles away. Okay, so I'm exaggerating: it's more like a twelve hundred mile drive. Twenty hours. Well, or a three hour flig