Twenty-Four
Holly
I drive through downtown Greywall, not surprised that my dad picked a restaurant in a neighboring town—his family probably doesn’t know I even exist.
After parking, I glance at the clock on my dash and pull my keys out of the ignition. Early is better than late.
The steakhouse is classy with dim lighting, linen tablecloths and napkins, and a nice atmosphere. A water glass and a wine glass are both set on the table, and as I take a quick glance at the menu, it’s clear that my mom couldn’t have afforded to eat here on her best night.
My phone dings in my purse, so I dig it out, reminding myself to breathe. I’m so nervous, I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat anyway. When I have the phone in my hand, I see a missed call from my mom. I’ll call her back later. There’re also a
