It’s finally Friday and I’m flying through my morning tasks at the office. I don’t even realize it’s lunchtime until I get a call from my dad.
We usually text throughout the week, and FaceTime on weekends, so having a midday call from him is odd.
“Hey, Dad, everything okay?”
“Hey, kiddo, just calling because I’m in town and in your part of the city. And I was wondering if, uh… I could take my daughter to lunch.”
I stumble at the thought. Lunch with your dad must seem like such a mundane activity. But for someone like me, who was always starved for any sliver of interaction with my father, this is monumental. “Yes, of course! I’m ready now if you are. Where do you want to meet?”
“How about the lobby of your work building? I’m already here.” He laughs.
“Wait, how do you…? Oh right. Of course you would know my work address.”
“I swear I googled it like any other law-abiding citizen. I didn’t need the FBI database to find your office at the university where you work,” he scolds playfully.
“All right, on my way down!”
I don’t know when hugging my dad will stop being weird. Or when sitting in front of him will feel natural. Because we’re just about done with our lunch, and I still haven’t settled into our conversation.
“Nikki, is something wrong?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I think it’s just gonna take a little time for me to, you know, get used to you being real and whatnot.” I chuckle awkwardly.
He sighs. “Yeah, I know. I’ve got a lot of making up to do. And truthfully, I don’t deserve all the grace you’re giving me. But I’m too selfish to let you know it, because spending this time with you will forever be the highlight of my life.”
Tears start forming in my eyes. And if I let my hormones run wild, I’ll be sobbing in public in two seconds flat. So I try to change the subject quickly.
“Whatever happened to that Mr. Bartoli guy? Still living large?”
My dad’s shoulders slump. “Yeah. The guy is untouchable. I think it’s time I walk away from the case. I’ve been holding out on retiring, all because I wanted to see this through. I wanted to make my sacrifices worth it in the end. Although I can already tell you that they weren’t. Any day spent away from you and your mother was an eternal loss on my end, and I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my days.”
I hold his hand across the table. I wonder if he would be open to talking to mom. I’m sure there’s some closure that needs to happen there. But I hold off on suggesting it, since I’m not speaking to her at the moment.
Then, out of nowhere, a thought comes to me.
“Do the Bartoli families own casinos, by any chance?”
My dad raises a brow. “No. Why?”
I shrug and take a sip of my water before answering. “Oh, no reason. I just remember seeing a tattoo on his wrist and thought it was because he was big into cards or gambling.”
My father goes stock still. “Adriano doesn’t have any tattoos, Nikki.”
My lips twitch. “Yes, he does. It’s a small one, but I saw it. A little ace of spades playing card on his left wrist. Small enough for his watch band to cover it.”
My dad’s voice takes on an authoritative tone. “Are you absolutely sure about this? Anaceof spades? How did you get that close to him to see it? Is there anything else you can recollect during your time around him? I need you to take a minute and think for me.”
“Whoa, wow. Calm down there, Dad. He was mostly being a big flirt with me. The only thing noteworthy was the tattoo.” I pause. Then widen my eyes when I think I remember something worthwhile. “Hisfinsta!”
“Is that English?” my father asks, clearly confused.
“No. While talking to him, I mentioned that I should get off social media, and he countered with telling me I should just open a fake Instagram account so that I can still stay in the loop with what’s going on online without people knowing it’s me.”
My father is out of his chair and fishing bills out of his wallet before I get my full sentence out.
“I gotta run into the office here in Manhattan and brief the technical analyst on what you’ve just told me.”
He plants a big kiss on my cheek. “But I didn’t really tell you anything, did I?”
