At My Father’s Ceremony They Said I Could Not Do Anything Right Until I Walked In And Smiled

was a thing he had never replaced because, he said, coffee made on a stove tasted like a decision rather than a convenience.

“Slept?” he asked without turning.

“Some.”

“More than me.”

I sat at the table. He poured without asking how I took it, because he had never needed to ask and that knowledge, at least, had not been lost.

“Evelyn called last night,” continue reading …