When Abby pulled up to my building the next day, I was already outside waiting. "Here," I thrust a scone into her hand and put a container of lemon bars on the floor in the backseat. I kept the chocolate chip cookies on my lap. I thought they'd help dad and I get off on the right foot.

"Stress baking?"

"And cooking. I have freezer meals for weeks. I'll send some home with you." She smiled, but it did nothing to hide her nervousness. She had the tip of her finger in her mouth. I don't think I'd seen her bite her nails since mom's funeral.

Dad was waiting on the sidewalk outside the prison. I guess I thought we'd have to fill out a form or sign something, but he was just waiting there like a kid after school. He held a plastic bag with a few items instead of a backpack. I jumped out to let him sit in front. "Hi. Congratulations!" I said. It was a stupid thing to say, but Abby repeated me, "Yeah, congratulations!"

My father looked bewildered. I thought he'd be... happier. But he just looked stunned. "I just can't believe I'm out," he said, slowly. "I didn't think I'd ever get out of there." I guess time had snuck up on him in the same weird way.

"Oh! Um, do you want a cookie?" I opened the lid and he took one. I wondered when he'd last washed his hands, then felt guilty.

"Mm. Good. You always did like to cook, didn't you, Nora?" I didn't know how to answer that. It was such a ridiculous understatement. Abby looked at me in the rearview mirror. He didn't know anything about me.

"Yeah. Did you know I went to culinary school?"

"That's right!" he snapped his fingers. "I forgot. I do remember Abby telling me about that. Well, I can't wait to see what you learned! Or taste what you learned, I guess." He chuckled. Abby looked worried, but not as worried as I felt.

We arrived at my apartment and Abby popped the trunk, then slammed it shut when we got out of the car. There was no luggage to get from the back. I opened the door to my apartment and we walked in. Dad was breathing hard from the stair. In the movies, criminals spend their time in jail getting rock hard bodies. Not the case with my dad. We stepped in. It occurred to me I should have put up a welcome sign or something? I really did not have a procedure in place for this kind of thing. "Oh! Here." I slid a spare key from a new succulent and gave it to him. "Welcome home."

He scanned the living room and kitchen. "Bathroom," I pointed to a door, and "my bedroom," pointing to another. He nodded. "Eric said the pullout is pretty comfy. So."

"That's good." He nodded around the room. "I think this will do just fine," like I was a realtor and he had a choice.

Abby buzzed around looking busy, but I had no idea what she was doing. When I let Barbara out of my room she ran pall-mall for dad and worked double-time sniffing his shoes. "You have a dog? I didn't know you have a dog."

I didn't like his tone. "Is that a problem?"

"No. No, I just didn't know you had a dog." So you said, I thought sarcastically. I bit my cheek. Eventually, he reached down and pat Barbara's head. I was placated for now.

When Abby announced she had to leave, I let dread taint my bloodstream. I had not thought this through. Not even an hour in and I was miserable, how could I possibly live here full-time with dad? I would stock up on books and stay in my room. I'd get a mini-fridge and live in there. Abby squeezed me and in her hug I heard a million words of encouragement. When she let go she gave me a little shake. I nodded, understanding, but all I said was, "Tell Morgan 'hi.'"

"I'll bring her by soon. She misses you and Babs." Awkward pause. "And she of course wants to meet you, dad!"

"Of course," he said drily. For a guy who just got out of prison, I thought he'd be a little... happier, I guess.

Abby left and I put on my big girl panties as they say to have an actual conversation with my father for the second time in fifteen years. If you're counting the conversation we had when he was still in jail.

"So, how does it feel to be out?"

There. There was the light in his eyes. "Surreal. I can't believe it. I thought this day would never come."

"I'm happy for you."

"You are?"

"Sure. I've heard prison sucks." Lamest sentence ever.

"Yeah. You could say that. It definitely sucks," he snorted.

"Anyway." I never really knew my dad. But my mom, my wonderful, funny, beautiful mom had seen something in him at some point, so I really wanted to give him a chance. I remembered Eric's story. "Do you want a root beer float?" I asked.

The tip of his mouth twitched, pulling his lips into a smile it looked like he was ashamed of. "I love root beer floats."

I slapped my legs and hustled to the kitchen,pleased as a cat bringing her owner a mouse. I'd have to get over the incessantneed to make him happy, but for now, I relished in making an ex-con hisfavorite treat for the first time, post-prison.