“We’re here to meet your birth father.”

The world seemed to go silent, everything spinning dizzyingly around her. Eris couldn’t think. “Oh,” she said at last, in a tiny breath. She followed her mom out of the hover, into the courtyard. A nearby fountain sprayed water in the shape of a giant cursive L.

“After you asked me about him a few weeks ago, I reached out, told him everything. He wants to meet you.”

Eris’s eyes darted up to the hotel, tears blurring her vision. “He’s here?” she whispered.

Her mom nodded. “He’s inside right now.”

Eris stood there for a moment, uncertain. “Okay,” she heard herself say, and knew it was the right thing. If she didn’t meet her birth father now—when he was here, waiting for her—the what-if of it would haunt her forever.

Caroline stepped forward. Eris started to pull away but thought better of it. I’ve punished her enough, she decided, and accepted her mom’s hug.

“I love you, Eris,” Caroline whispered. Eris felt dampness on her neck, and realized that her mom was crying.

“I love you too, Mom,” Eris said, as the wall she’d built between them began to crack, just a little.

* * *

Eris said nothing as they stepped inside the cool, hushed lobby of the Lemark, where a white-gloved concierge was speaking with an overweight lady in golf clothes. A little out of the way at 17th and Riverside, the Lemark was a favorite spot for businesspeople holding secret meetings—and, Eris had heard, couples having affairs. Supposedly the president himself used to sneak away to meet his current wife here, before he divorced the former First Lady. Eris wondered what it meant, that her birth father had suggested this place. For some reason it made her feel uncomfortable, as if she and her mom were a sordid little secret. It’s fine, she told herself, he probably just wants privacy.

They walked into the dining room, filled with dark leather banquettes that were so widely separated, it was impossible for someone at one table to see the guests at any other. Eris realized she couldn’t hear a single shred of conversation, only the music pumping in over the speakers. Maybe all the tables were equipped with silencers.

The hostess, a dark-eyed brunette in a tight uniform skirt, looked them over. “We’re the Dodd-Radsons,” Caroline said, stubbornly using their old name, or maybe she’d just forgotten the same way Eris kept doing. But the hostess seemed to already know who they were.

“This way,” she said, weaving through the secluded tables to the back corner. “He’s been waiting for you.”

Eris felt a shudder of apprehension and reached instinctively for her mom’s hand. They arrived at the table just as a gentleman stood up from the shadows, and Eris gave a sharp, helpless laugh.

She turned to the hostess. “We’re at the wrong table. I’m meeting someone else,” she said, marveling at the coincidence, because she actually knew this person. It was Matt Cole, Leda’s dad.

But the hostess had turned away, and Mr. Cole was clearing his throat. “Caroline,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. “It’s good to see you, as always.” He held out his hand awkwardly. “Eris, thank you for coming.” And she realized, stunned, that there hadn’t been a mistake at all.

Leda’s dad was her dad too.

She and her mom sat down, sliding awkwardly along the banquette so that Eris was between her parents. The silence felt strained and heavy. Mr. Cole was looking at her as if he’d never seen her before, his eyes tracing over her features, probably searching for himself in them. They had similar mouths, Eris realized, and his skin was as fair as hers. But she looked so much like her mom it was hard to tell.

A bot rolled over with a tray of drinks on its surface and began to dole them out. “I’m sorry, I went ahead and ordered,” Mr. Cole said self-consciously. “Caroline, the spritz is for you, and Eris, I got you a lemonade. I remember it’s your favorite, right?” She just nodded dumbly. Yeah, it was my favorite, back in eighth grade, the one and only time Leda had me over.

They sat there idly swirling their drinks, everyone waiting for someone else to speak. Eris refused to be the first to talk. She was still making sense of all this. A thousand moments were replaying in her mind—the way her mom always asked which other parents would be there, before she came to any school function; her seemingly casual questions about Leda, which evidently weren’t so casual at all. Now it all made sense. But—

“When?” she blurted out, shaking her head in bewilderment. “I mean, when did you …” hook up? She didn’t know how to phrase the question, but her mom understood.

“Matt and I met in our early twenties,” Caroline said, watching Eris. “Before I met your father. We were part of the same group of friends, all new to the city. The Tower was just under construction. Everyone was scattered in the boroughs waiting for it to be done. We were all so poor,” she added, turning to Mr. Cole. “We were living paycheck to paycheck. Remember how my first apartment in Jersey City had beach towels for curtains?”

“You couldn’t even afford furniture,” Mr. Cole said, amusement creeping into his tone. “You stacked wooden boxes as your coffee table.”

“In the summers when it was hot, we’d sneak into the indoor farmers’ market and wander the aisles until they kicked us out, because we couldn’t afford air-conditioning.”