Noah
My father called a few days later, though the request that followed caught me off guard immediately by its simplicity.
"Dinner," he said, his tone lacking the usual businesslike efficiency I'd grown accustomed to over the years. "Just the two of us. No agenda. I'd like to talk, if you're willing."
I agreed, curious despite myself, uncertain what exactly to expect from a conversation with no clear business purpose attached to it. We met at a quiet restaurant he rarely frequented, somewhere considerably less formal than the polished, expensive establishments he usually preferred for business dinners.
"This is different," I observed, glancing around the modest, warmly lit space as we settled into a corner booth.
"Your mother used to like this place," he said, something soft and ungu
