Day one of production.
Danny stood in front of a camera bigger than his car, with a tiny mic taped to his chest and a crew bustling around like bees in beanies. The set was a local barbershop-slash-bodega called Snip n' Sip, where you could get a fade and a horchata at the same time.
He was supposed to open with a quick monologue. Something about Austin, identity, chaos, and chips.
Instead, he said, "Can I go to the bathroom again?"
Sandy didn't even flinch. "That's your third fake pee. You good?"
"I'm about to be the face of a show that's literally based on me being a functional mess. Of course I'm good."
Sandy smirked. "Danny."
He exhaled. "I'm good."
She nodded. "Then let's roll."
They nailed the first take. And the second. By lunch, Danny had filmed three segments and only spilled kombucha on himself once. The crew loved him. The city showed up for him.
It was happening.
He was doing it.
Then he checked his phone.
A missed call. No name. Voicemail.
He listened.
> "Hey... it's Dad. I'm in town for a few days. Thought maybe we could get lunch. Or just... you know. Talk."
Silence.
> "Saw your face on YouTube. Figured you might be less mad by now."
Danny froze.
Everything around him kept moving.
Inside, something didn't.
He didn't mention it to anyone. Not Sandy. Not Devin. Not Beverly. He shot the next scene with extra energy, cracked more jokes, smiled harder.
But inside, his brain spun like a broken shopping cart.
That night, he stood outside a diner on South Lamar, holding a coffee he didn't order, waiting for a man he hadn't seen in eight years.
Then there he was. Thinner. Grayer. Same nervous hands.
"Hey," his dad said, voice too casual.
Danny sat. "What are you doing here?"
"I was passing through. Saw the video. Thought... I don't know. Maybe we could reset."
Danny stirred his coffee. "We're not a router. We don't reset."
Oof. That landed.
His dad sighed. "I wasn't a great dad."
"No kidding."
"I didn't know how to support something I didn't understand. Your writing. The way you see the world. I thought if I pushed you hard enough, you'd land on something real."
"I am doing something real."
"I know that now."
Danny looked up. "So what? You want forgiveness? A cameo in my series?"
"No," his dad said, quiet. "Just lunch. Just a shot at not being a stranger anymore."
Danny stared at him.
Then took a bite of his sandwich. Chewed. Swallowed.
"I'm not promising anything."
"Fair."
"But I'll finish this lunch."
His dad nodded.
It wasn't a hug. Wasn't a breakthrough.
But it was something.
That night, back in the garage, Danny told Mrs. Beverly everything.
She didn't interrupt.
She just handed him a half-empty wine cooler and said, "You faced the monster and didn't flinch. That's bigger than any deal you'll sign."
Danny grinned. "He's not a monster. Just a guy who screwed up."
"Exactly."
She raised her drink. "To screwing up and still showing up."
Danny clinked his can to hers.
"To awkward beginnings."