Page 75 of The Bet
We sit there, not saying anything else, just watching the coffee cool and the neon flicker in the dark window. It’s not a happy ending, not yet. Maybe not ever. But it’s enough for now.
The rest, we’ll figure out together.
The lull comesafter the confessions. It’s like the hush after a car crash, that floating second where you can’t hear anything but your own pulse. Our coffee has gone cold and the windows of The Copper Rail are filmed with condensation, blurring out the city beyond.
For a while, we don’t talk at all. The only movement is Andie tracing a circle in the sugar grains spilled on the tabletop, slow and steady, as if she’s counting down to something. I watch her do it, and realize I want to see that hand every day for the rest of my life. The thought is so huge and ridiculous I nearly laugh.
She breaks the silence first. “What about Stella?”
I exhale, the breath fogging up my mug. “I don’t know why my daughter did what she did.” My voice is smaller than I expect. “She’s always been unpredictable and rash. With people. With feelings.”
Andie nods, like this makes sense. She’s seen it up close.
I keep going, “My daughter never got great grades. Never tried to. But she can see through any lie, any angle. She knew what you meant to me long before I did. Maybe before you did.”
Andie bites her lip, thoughtful. “Yeah, but she filmed us, Thomas. She showed the sex video to everyone.”
“I know.” I run a hand through my hair, trying to scrub out the sick anger I felt that night. “It was a fucked up thing to do. And it wasn’t about you, or the bet. I think it was about me. About trying to pull me back into her orbit. Make me pay attention again, even if it meant burning the place down.”
Andie is silent, hands flat on the table now. “She could have just told me.”
I shrug, helpless. “That’s not how Stella is. She makes everything a performance. Even her pain.”
The waitress comes by with the coffee pot, but we don’t need more. She tops us off anyway, and winks at Andie as if to say,men, am I right?Then she vanishes again, leaving us adrift.
Outside, the sky is going blue at the edges, a little halo over the buildings on the other side of the street.
I say, “She’s been asking about you.”
Andie’s head snaps up. “What?”
I swirl my mug, watching the black ripple. “Stella. She’s not mad. I mean, she was, but she’s over it. She says you’re hiding from her, and she doesn’t want that. She doesn’t want you gone from her life.”
Andie stares at the window, jaw working. “She could have fooled me.”
“She’s not angry, Andie. If anything—” I hesitate, pick the word carefully, “—Stella’s repentant. She wants to see you. She misses you.”
That does it. Andie closes her eyes, lets out a sigh that sounds like defeat, but isn’t. It’s relief. The kind that hits you when you realize the guillotine isn’t dropping after all.
I lean forward and rest my hand over hers. Her fingers are soft, cool, not trembling anymore. I press my thumb to the backs of her knuckles, a promise without words.
“It’ll take time to dissect who and what my daughter is, and I understand if you want to keep your distance. But this isn’t about Stella. This is about me and you. If you want to try again,” I say in a fierce tone, “we do it right this time. No more secrets, no more sneaking around. Everything on the table.”
Andie nods, but doesn’t answer right away. She bites her lower lip, weighing something. “We go slow,” she finally says. “We have to. There’s too much to untangle.”
I smile, small and genuine. “We’ll go as slow as you want.”
She laughs, the first real laugh I’ve heard all night. “Don’t be impatient because the tortoise wins the race.”
We let that hang. The radio in the kitchen kicks over to a gospel station, a woman’s voice wailing softly in the background. The neon outside the window flickers, struggling to stay lit.
Dawn fills the diner with a blue glow. Our coffee is cold, but I don’t care. Andie’s hand is in mine, and she’s smiling at me. I could sit like this for the rest of my life.
We don’t get up to leave. Not for a long time.
Andie traces another circle in the sugar. This time, it’s a spiral. A beginning, not an end.
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