He shrugs as he selects a carton of juice out of the fridge. “Yeah, I’ll tell them… but doesn’t it seem like your band’s falling apart?”

“Kind of,” I mutter and shut the door. Pulling my hood over my head, I trot down stairs and out into the rain, splashing through puddles as I march toward the street.

Ever since the little incident with Naomi, things in the band have gotten rocky. It started with her not wanting to be around me, and then Dylan and Chase lost interest when they discovered they could make a lot of money bartending at this club exclusively for women.

Right now, though, I’m more concerned about what I’m about to walk into with my father.

When I arrive at the bakery and see my dad sitting at a table, I almost pussy out. I tap my hand anxiously on my leg, staring at him through the window as rain drips down on me. He’s reading the paper and drinking a cup of coffee. Dressed in a gray suit and a red tie with a briefcase next to his feet, he looks like a lawyer. Suddenly, I realize I have no idea what he does or who he is. He’s nothing more than a stranger, like the people passing by me on the sidewalk.

I man up and walk into the bakery. It smells like vanilla and kind of reminds me of Ella. Two of the eight tables are occupied and the cashier girl behind the display, filled with cupcakes and cookies, undresses me with her eyes.

My dad looks up from his coffee and his aqua eyes widen. “Oh, Micha, you showed up.”

I slide out a chair and sit down across from him. “Of course I showed up. When I say I’m going to be somewhere, I always show up. That’s the kind of person I am and you’d know that if you knew me.”

He clears his throat multiple times while smoothing out invisible wrinkles on his tie. “Look, Micha, I’m really sorry for what I’ve done. For being a shitty father and for just not being there.”

My forehead creases as I cross my arms and slump back in the chair. “I don’t get why you’re saying that, because the last two times I saw you, you made it pretty clear that you didn’t really care about me and you wanted nothing to do with me.”

Tearing some packets open, he adds sugar to his coffee with unsteady hands. “Things change… some stuff happened, and… well, I need your help.”

I stare at him expressionlessly. “Is that why you said you were sorry to me? Because you want something from me?”

He discards the empty packets onto the table. “Do you want me to get you something? Do you want some coffee?”

“I want you to continue on with what you want,” I say coldly. “Because I’m really fucking curious where this conversation is going.”

He stirs the coffee and wipes the spoon on the lip of the cup. “I’m not really sure how to start this conversation…” He drops the spoon onto the table. “I was recently diagnosed with aplastic anemia… Do you know what that is?”

“Do I look like a doctor?” I shake my head, annoyed.

“Well, I’ll skip the boring medical terms and get straight to the point. It’s a rare disease and I’ve got a severe case of it.” He stares down at the cracks in the table, with his eyebrows knit, and wrinkles form around his eyes. “I need a blood and marrow transplant and the best thing for that is to get a relative to be the donor.”

“Are you dying?” I eye him over. “You look healthy.”

“No, I’m not dying.” His voice is as cold as ice. “But I’m not healthy either, and this could help me.”

“What about your other kids? Why can’t you ask them?”

“I don’t want to do that to them. They’re too young and… I don’t even want them to know I’m sick.”

I hover over the table, putting my palms flat on the table, burning with anger, and the chair legs grind loudly against the floor. “So let me guess this straight. You want me to do it, even though you haven’t talk to me in years? You bailed on me when I was a child and I still don’t even know why you didn’t at least stay in touch with me.”

“Micha, I said I was sorry.” He reaches across the table like he’s going to pat my hand, but retreats, which is a good thing because I probably would have punched him. “And this is bigger than that—I’m sick.”

I shove away from the table. “I’ll have to think about it.”

He picks up his briefcase and stands up too. “Can you at least go get checked to see if you’ll make a good donor? These things take time.”

Sometimes I wish I could be a douche bag and walk away. “Fine, I’ll go get checked, but it’s not for you. It’s so I don’t have to feel guilty.”

Ella

It’s been almost two weeks since the wedding and I talk to Micha every day on the phone. The conversations are light, except for the occasional dirty comment from him, but that was always normal, even when we were friends before.

I miss him like crazy and think about him an unhealthy amount of hours during the day. He consumes my thoughts, my body, my dreams—he’s what drives me to be better.

It’s midday, the sun is glistening from the blue sky, and the air smells like fresh-cut grass and autumn. I’m walking across the quiet campus yard toward my therapist’s office with the phone up to my ear.

“You did not do that,” I say to Micha with a smile on my face. “You are such a liar.”

“I did,” he argues with humor in his voice. “I threw down my guitar and told them I was out—that I didn’t want any more drama.”

I swing the main entrance door open and step inside the vacant hallway. “So you quit the band—you’re just done, after months on the road with them?”

“It actually happens more than you think,” he replies and I hear Ethan’s voice in the background. “And I quit like a week ago, but I didn’t want to tell you until now.”

My mouth sinks into a frown as I lower myself into a chair outside the therapist’s office. “Why? I wouldn’t have talked you out of it. As long as you’re happy, you can do whatever you want. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

“I am happy. Very, very happy,” he promises me enthusiastically. “But that’s not the reason I didn’t tell you.”

“Okay… what’s the reason?” I hear Ethan’s voice again. “And why is Ethan there. Isn’t he supposed be on his big, adventurous trip, mountain-man style or whatever the hell he calls it?”

“My Mountain Man Journey!” Ethan shouts. “Get the wording right, woman.”

“Am I on speakerphone?” I ask. “Micha, if I am, take me off of it. Please.”

“I can’t. You’ll take this better if you’re on speakerphone.” He blows out a breath. “This way you’ll contain your anger a little bit better, because you know Ethan will be listening and use everything you say against you.”

I glance from left to right, noting no one’s around in the office. “What’s the news?”

He clears his throat, like he’s preparing to make a big speech. “After the whole band breakup went down, I decided I needed a change. And so did Ethan, since he realized he wasn’t as much of a mountain man as he thought.”

“That’s not the real reason,” Ethan objects. “I just felt sorry for your dumb ass because your band broke up.”

“Anyway,” Micha talks over him. “We both decided that it was time for a change and so I started looking around for a permanent thing that wouldn’t require a lot of traveling.”

“I thought you didn’t want to do that kind of stuff.” I drop my bag on the floor and hunch back in the chair. “I thought you wanted to be part of a band and be on the road.”

“Nah, I’m better by myself,” he tells me. “Maybe I’ll keep my eyes open for a new band, but the one I was with was turning into a lost cause. And for now, I’ve found a place to play. Plus I got a side job. The pay is shit, but it works for now and it’s better than going back home.”

“What’s your side job?”

“It’s for this male escort service. I figured it be great. I get to dazzle women all day—which we both know I’m awesome at—and I’ll get paid to do it.”

I roll my eyes, but play along. “Wow, that sounds like a job you’ll be really good at and I’m sure it’ll be a lot of fun. The more I think about it, it’s like your dream job.”

“Yeah, I know, right?” he says cleverly. “Although, I have heard stories about some fetishes guys run into and it sounds like things can get a little awkward, but I’ll do what I gotta do to survive.”

“You’re such a dork.” I shift in my seat, tucking my legs under the chair as the secretary walks by with a stack of papers in her hands. “What are you really doing? Better yet, where are you?”

“Ethan and I got a part-time job in construction, but it’s just an in-between thing.” He pauses and there’s a loud bang. “At night I’ll be playing at The Hook Up.”

“Hey. There’s one of those in Vegas,” I say over the sound of the paper shredder. “I didn’t know it was a national thing, though.”

He hesitates. “It’s not a national thing.”

“You’re in Vegas?” My voice comes out high-pitched and the secretary glares at me through her thick glasses as she feeds papers through the shredder. Turning in the seat, I lower my voice and put my finger to my ear to hear better. “You and Ethan moved to Vegas?”

“Yeah, we’re in Vegas right now as we speak, setting up our stuff in this teeny tiny apartment,” he clarifies. “But it works and I’m happy with it.”

Unsure how to respond I stay quiet, drumming my fingers anxiously on my knee. The front desks phone rings and the secretary answers it.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, pretty girl,” he urges and there’s a beep as he switches it off speakerphone. “Ethan can’t hear you anymore.”