Why am I nervous? I’ve already slept with him. I’ve hung out with him to talk about dead parents. I shouldn’t be nervous to get coffee with a man whose family is a pack of assholes. I repeat this series of mantras as I walk the few blocks down to the coffee shop. The space near my dad’s house has gone through a few different iterations since he bought the place.

A few owners ago, it was a gnome-themed coffee shop, which was super cute. Right now ...