Chapter 21
DID I COMPLETELY F*CK UP?
Thomas
Iget to the cafe first first, as always.
I pick the table farthest from the window, where the morning light can’t glare me into submission.
There’s a line of mismatched chairs, all of them scraped and beaten like rescue animals, and a chalkboard menu that’s been wiped and rewritten so many times it looks like a ransom note.
I order a double espresso, then sit with my back to the wall, the way you do in places that remind you of childhood or failure.
The persistent smell of dark roast is punched through by something yeasty and sweet—maybe the bread, maybe the pastry case, maybe just the memory of mornings before I started hating them.
I don’t have to wait long. My daughter arrives only ten minutes late, which is a miracle.
She strolls in, so relaxed that it’s almost a joke.
Stella’s wearing an old college crewneck, the neckline frayed enough to suggest she’s either broke or one of those hipster girls pretending to be poor.
Her eyes scan the bistro—one, two, three, then me—and she weaves between tables with a cat’s certainty.
She sits without greeting, drops her phone next to the napkin, and folds her hands in her lap.
When the waitress comes, she orders a flat white with oat milk, no pastry, and then raises an eyebrow to me.
“So is it as bad as you were saying?”
I reach into my pocket, pull out my own phone, and place it on the table, face up. No drama. I unlock it, open to the file, and hit pause on the first frame. I don’t bother with a preamble.
Stella’s eyes flicker. She knows exactly what she’s seeing because I told her over the phone: Andie, lush and nude, legs spread so wide her hips nearly lift off the bed, my cock buried in her, skin glistening with sweat.
It’s not artful, not even a little; the angle is amateur, the audio a raw scramble of gasps and hoarse declarations.
There’s no mistaking the faces, or the violence of the want.
The video is paused at the second I bottom out, Andie’s mouth open in a scream, my hands braced on either side of her waist.
My jaw feels like it’s about to lock, but I make myself hold her gaze. “I turned down the volume because full volume would get us thrown out of this place. But yeah, I found this in Andie’s Google Drive,” I say. “She left her laptop with me. Needed a system update, apparently.”
Stella doesn’t blink. She takes in the phone, the video, then me. “Okay, so what do you want me to do? My dad and my apartment-mate are making amateur porn. Weird, but fine.”
I don’t dignify her comment. Instead, the words come out in a rush. “She never told me she filmed it. Never asked. Didn’t even mention it, not once, even when we had our—” I swallow, feel the grit in my throat, “—Come to Jesus talk. We swore no more secrets, and then this pops up.”
Stella makes a show of reaching for her cup. She hasn’t even touched it yet, but she holds it in both hands, as if it’s the only warm thing in the room. “Okay, but, like, didn’t she already show you that fundraiser dick pic? I mean, wasn’t that part of your first falling out? The secret photo?”
“That was different,” I say, sharper than intended. “I knew about that one. She admitted it. And she told me everything else, or so I thought.”
Stella stirs her coffee, spoon tapping the ceramic in measured, rhythmic beats. “Dad, you’re making her sound like some Machiavellian schemer, but I know Andie. She’s not a schemer. She doesn’t even know how to scheme. Seriously.”
My fingers press hard into the wood. “Then why keep this? Why hide it after we agreed—?”
Stella shrugs. “Maybe she wanted to remember. Maybe she’s a closet narcissist. Maybe she was just scared.
” Her eyes are calm, almost clinical. “You ever think maybe she didn’t want to lose you, so she held on to something private?
Or maybe she genuinely forgot it was there.
God knows I have shit in my iCloud I don’t remember. ”
“She’s not innocent,” I say. “You think she is, but she’s not. She wanted to win the bet. She wanted to play me.”
Stella’s lips twist, a flicker of something—pity, or maybe just secondhand embarrassment. “The girl never even showed it to us. You know that already. She won the bet because I surprised everyone with the video that I took of you guys fucking in the stairwell. God, this family is so bizarre.”
My daughter takes a cautious sip of coffee, then sets the cup down between her hands and stares at me, hard.
“You’re angry because she lied,” Stella says. “But you’re really angry because you thought this would be different. And it’s not.”
I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. She’s right. I wanted to believe in the possibility of something pure, something uncalculated, and now it’s gone. Not because of the video, but because I let myself believe.
Stella’s voice is gentler than I expect.
“People aren’t perfect, and it’s a problem because you’re a control freak, Dad.
You always have been. You like to own things—houses, cars, women, even memories.
But Andie isn’t a robot. She’s her own chaos, even if deep down, she’s a gentle spirit.
If you want her, then you have to accept that people make mistakes. ”
I look away. The espresso is cooling in front of me, a little ring of crema sinking into bitterness. I lift the cup, taste it, and find it more acid than comfort.
“She’s still a bitch for not telling me,” I say, softer this time. “After everything, she should have trusted me with the truth.”
Stella shrugs again. “Maybe she genuinely didn’t remember. Maybe she didn’t think you’d stay if you knew. Maybe she was right.”
We sit in the discomfort, the clatter of cutlery and hiss of milk frother filling the spaces between.
I watch Stella watch me, her eyes unblinking, and for a second I see myself in them: the same pale blue, the same stubborn set to the brow.
It’s like being stared down by my own reflection, only a younger, female version.
“In fact, just so you know, Andie basically pulled out of the bet. She didn’t quit because we’d barrage her with questions.
But she kind of “quiet quit.” She never had any updates, and told us she wasn’t seeing you anymore,” Stella says, voice low.
“She wanted to keep you for herself. She was protecting you and the relationship that was developing. Either way, she never used the video. She never sent it anywhere.”
I drum my fingers on the phone, still paused, still waiting. “How do I know you’re not covering for her?”
Stella leans back, folding her arms. “Because I don’t have a reason to. Andie hates me right now. We barely speak. It’s really sad.”
That lands with a cold, clean finality. I believe her. I don’t want to, but I do.
But then I narrow my eyes at my daughter.
“You have a role in this shitshow too,” I accuse.
My daughter stares right back at me.
“So you’re still mad.”
I don’t answer.
She stirs her coffee, the spoon ringing against the ceramic. “You want to talk about the stairwell video.”
It’s not a question. I don’t have to nod.
Stella leans forward, elbows on the scarred wood. “You know, if you weren’t my father, you’d be threatening to sue. Or maybe you already would have. For what, emotional distress? Privacy violation?”
I look at her, hard. “Yeah, and I’m still considering it.”
She laughs, but it’s not a real laugh. “Come on, Dad. It’s not like I uploaded it.
No one even has a copy. The only reason why I recorded you guys was because you were so fucking loud, and the acoustics in that stairwell are like a cathedral.
Your sex sounds were echoing all the way down to the maintenance closet. It was like an X-rated circus.”
I stare daggers at my daughter. “That moment was private.”
“Maybe, but you definitely didn’t act like it.
” Stella’s face is pink, but her eyes never waver.
“I mean, in the stairwell of my dorm on moveout day? If you genuinely thought the moment was private, you would have at least locked yourself in a broom closet or something. Instead, you guys were doing it out in the open! You’re lucky it was me who came upon you, and not one of our dickhead RA’s.
They would have called the police for public fornication. ”
I say nothing.
Stella sighs, the steam from her coffee curling into her face. “You want to know the real reason I shot it? And why I played it for the room?”
I look up, and there’s something like apology there, but not quite. More like confession.
“I wanted to help Andie,” Stella says. “I knew she needed the cash. She’s broke, Dad. Like, broke broke. But she would never ever ask for help, not even from you. The only way she was going to win that bet was with proof, and you know the girls wouldn’t believe anything that wasn’t in high-def.”
“That’s not a reason,” I say, my voice flat. “You could have given her money. Or told me, and I would have given her money.”
Stella shrugs. “You’d have given her a thousand dollars for nothing?”
“In a heartbeat,” I snap, louder than I mean. Heads turn at the counter. “If she needed anything, she could have asked. That’s how it works, Stella.”
“Not for Andie.” Stella’s tone is acid. “She’s got more pride than sense.
And you know what? She’s still broke. You know how I know?
That girl is paying rent, working her fingers to the bone as a caterer, still pretending she’s fine, even though I know she’s living close to the margin.
She’s just proud, Dad. Or maybe she’s punishing herself. I don’t know.”
The words pile up between us, jagged and ugly.
I see it all now—the way Andie flinched every time I offered her something, the way she brushed off gifts, the way she offered to pay for half sometimes, even at fancy restaurants.
It wasn’t about the money. It was about not wanting to owe anyone. Not even me.
Stella finishes her coffee in two long gulps, then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
“She’s not even talking to me anymore. The apartment’s fucking miserable.
I thought maybe she’d move out, but she hasn’t, and I think it’s because she doesn’t have the money to move. She’s penniless. Or too stubborn.”
I stare at her, trying to find the right combination of words. “You should apologize.”
Stella’s lips twist. “I did. She doesn’t want to hear it.”
“Try harder.”
Stella looks at me, really looks, and I see something childlike there. Not weakness, but the ache of wanting to do right and not knowing how. “Maybe you should try, too,” she says. “If you want her back.”
A moment passes. The room hums with the whine of the espresso machine, the scrape of chairs, the laugh track from the table of freshmen in the corner. My anger cools, replaced by something dull and uncertain. Regret, maybe.
I say, “I’ll think about it.”
It’s a shitty answer, but it’s the only one I have.
The moment teeters, then passes. Stella stands, gathering her bag. She’s about to walk away when her phone vibrates on the table, the screen lighting up with a flash of blue.
There’s a picture—two men, side by side, both with strong jaws and eyes a penetrating blue. They’re grinning, and look like complete douches to me.
Stella snatches the phone, flipping it face-down. Her cheeks flush, and for the first time all day, she looks embarrassed.
I cock an eyebrow. “Who was that?”
She doesn’t quite meet my gaze. “My study group.”
I snort.
“You’ve never been in a study group in your life.”
My daughter laughs, bright and reckless. “Well, I’m in one now. It’s great. We specialize in spit-roasts and double teams.”
I almost choke on my espresso. Holy fuck, Stella’s fucking those two men!
She grins at me, then leans in and presses a quick, rough kiss to my forehead, like she’s five years old again and just got away with murder. “Bye, Dad.”
I watch her go, the sunlight swallowing her up, and wonder if I’ve royally fucked up as a father. Obviously, I have. I’m fucking Stella’s friend, as my daughter fucks two men simultaneously. What the hell has become of the Moreland family?
But maybe it’s not too late for either of us. Maybe we’re all just learning how to ask for what we want, and how to say it without choking on the words.
The coffee cools between my hands, and for a moment, I see Andie’s face in the glare on the window. The beautiful blonde’s laughing, a little wild, a little wounded, but real.
I sit there, thinking about pride and shame and the weight of things unsaid, and think about calling her.
But then the rage returns, making my vision go read.
What. The. Fuck.
Andie betrayed me.
And I’m not done yet.