“Did you argue with any of them?”
“Of course not.”
“Did you say something that might have frightened them?”
His face tightened.
“What kind of man do you think I am?”
“That is not what I meant.”
“It sounds like what you meant.”
Dad turned away and continued rinsing the mug.
I had hurt him.
“I am trying to understand.”
“So am I.”
That night, I called my best friend, Hannah Reed.
Hannah and I had known each other since college.
She possessed the rare ability to charm everyone in a room while silently noticing every inconsistency.
She worked in human resources and interviewed people for a living.
If Dad behaved strangely during dates, Hannah would recognize it.
“Go out with him once,” I said.
She laughed.
“You cannot be serious.”
“I am.”
Her laughter stopped.
“Maya, that is your father.”
“I know.”
“And he has met me.”
