As we arranged, Dennis meets me at a bar where we once shot a reception. It was the only place that came to mind. It’s not a total dive, but it’s nothing special—it smells like spilled booze, and the bar itself is sticky. The paper coasters are soggy and curled at the edges. The walls are decorated with vintage metal signs and a dartboard.

It’s strange to see him without his camcorder in hand. He looks incomplete, like an action figure without its trademark sword. He’s wearing a T-shirt and a button-down cardigan. I think he’s aiming for hipster, but he looks like my dad.

I shake his hand and make some small talk, but I’m nervous. I’m about to tell him that he’s out of a job.

“Do you want a drink?”

He sits on the stool beside me at the bar. “A beer, please.”

“Coming right up.”

I get the bartender’s attention and order two bottles. I take a swig out of mine as soon as it’s in my hand. “Had a good weekend?” I ask.

As always, Dennis is more intuitive than I give him credit for, and he gets straight to the point of the conversation. “In four years, you’ve never once invited me out for a beer. I’ve never been to your apartment unless it’s to edit pictures or pick up equipment. I can’t help thinking it might have something to do with Edward Bates and The New York Times.”

I let out a long breath, my shoulders dropping. “I’m sorry, Dennis. My old boss took me aside at Bates’ funeral. He’s desperate for me to go back. Nobody else will go to Sudan.”

“After what happened to Bates, I’m not surprised. I guess you accepted?”

“I did. I had no choice.”

“It’s a calling.” Dennis’ voice is resigned, and a little disapproving. “What did Sophie say?”

“She gave me another ultimatum.”

“The fact that we’re here talking tells me that you decided to go back to the paper.”

I take a swig of my beer and look down at the table. “It’s the life I always wanted.”

“For the last four or five months, you’ve been saying that Sophie’s all you wanted. Are you sure you’re making the right call?”

“I’ve worked my whole life for this gig.”

“Is this about the Pulitzer?”

I frown. “Of course not.”

Dennis holds up his hands. “I don’t get it. You’ve got a good life here. Work is steady. You have a woman who adores you. Your dad’s in New York. I don’t see why you’d give it all up to chase disasters unless you are chasing something else as well.”

I simmer with frustration. “It’s not about an award, or fame, or glory, or anything like that. To be honest, I’m getting a bit sick of people suggesting it is.”

Dennis shrugs. “What do I know?”

“Does nobody understand that the job is important?”

“Of course, it is. But someone else can do it.”

“I want to do it.”

“There you go.” There’s bitterness in his voice.

“Are you pissed at me?”

Dennis—who never raises his voice or gets agitated, no matter how big a tantrum a bride throws, or how demanding a sixteen-year-old’s mother may be—slams his beer down on the table. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why? I thought we were partners!” he exclaims, his expression turning sour. “I’ve been at your side for four years. Not only have I been on call whenever you need me and for whatever reason, but I’ve listened to you bitch and moan about how hard your life is and tried to be your friend.”

“You’ve been a great friend, Dennis.”

“You, not so much. You’re so self-centered. You accepted this job without even talking to me. I would have been happy for you and supported you. You, though—you didn’t even think twice about where this would leave me. The company is ‘Tanner Photography.’ Not ‘Graham Videos.’ I’m going to have to start from scratch.”

“You can keep the name, Dennis.”

“It’s not about that!” Dennis retorts, his voice rising in anger. “Jesus, Cole, you’ve got no loyalty whatsoever, have you? You use people. You needed me to get your company off the ground, and I worked fucking hard for you. Your dad is old and doesn’t have many people around, but that doesn’t matter to you. You wanted Sophie when it suited you, then you dropped her, too. Maybe it’s best you disappear—at least then you’ll stop sucking people dry. Good luck with The New York Times.” He puts down his beer and disappears.

I feel like shit. I don’t know if he’s simply speaking out of anger, or whether he’s completely right, and I’m an ass.

Do I really suck everyone dry?

I nurse my beer for a good hour and then order another, and another. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore; whether I’m heading in the right direction or throwing everything good away. Either way, it’s too late to go back now—I’ve burned all my bridges.

* * *

I let myself into Dad’s house the next morning. My head is pounding from the night before. I drank myself into a stupor, trying to come to terms with the fact that I might be fucking up all over again.

He’s sitting watching TV in his favorite wicker armchair and looks up when I enter. “Cole! I wasn’t expecting you today.”

“I was in the area, and thought I’d drop in.”

“Grab yourself a drink, son. There’s soda in the fridge.”

“Thanks.” I take a can out the fridge and sit on the sofa by my dad. “What are you watching?”

“The news.” He shakes his head. “There’s so much crime these days. It’s horrible.”

This is my chance. I clear my throat and lean forward. “Actually, Dad, that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Dad mutes the TV and twists in his armchair. His eyebrows draw together, and he frowns. I feel just like I did when I was a kid, and he used to stare me down when I was trying to get away with doing something I knew I shouldn’t. “What is it?”

“I spoke to David at Edward Bates’ funeral.”

“You’re going back to the paper.”

I nod. “I know it’s not what you want me to do.”

Dad shrugs. “It’s not about what I want. You’re a grown man, and it’s your life.”

He turns back to the television but doesn’t turn the sound back on. I can tell he’s processing the news, and I think about what Dennis said to me the night before.

I didn’t even think about Dad when I told David I’d go back. He’s getting older, after all.

“What does Sophie think?”

“Dad.”

“I see.”

“You’re angry with me.”

“I’m not angry. I’m disappointed. I’m sad for you. I think you’re making a mistake.”

“You never wanted me to pursue photography.”

Dad’s face softens. He looks resigned. “I only want you to be happy, son. I know that Sophie makes you happy. While you’ve been doing your wedding photography, you’ve been happy. All this photojournalism stuff makes you someone else, gives you something different.”

“Like purpose? Meaning? The chance to do something important with my life?”

“Perhaps. But one day all that will be over, and what will be left? I’ll be gone soon enough, like your mom. Then you’ll be my age and on your own.”

“Maybe if Sophie can’t accept that this is what I want to do, then she’s really not the right person for me after all.”

“Do you really believe that?”

I look down. No, I don’t. Sophie’s perfect. “I could refuse the job and stay with Sophie, but that huge ‘what if?’ will always be hanging over us. It’ll always feel like I didn’t fulfill my potential. Like I could have done more.”

Dad shrugs. “Then do what you have to do, Cole. Only you know what’s going to make you truly happy. Whatever you decide, you’ll always be my son.”