My father cut me off after I adopted a child that he said "wasn't really mine." We didn't speak for four years. Then, in a grocery store, my son saw him, walked up without hesitation, and said something that made my father cry.
Advertisement
My father sat at the head of the table, posture straight, hands folded like he was conducting an interview rather than meeting my boyfriend for the first time.
"And what do you do again?" my father asked.
"I manage a logistics team," Thomas said.
Calm. Steady. The same way he was with everything.
Unlike me. I was a bundle of nerves.
"And what do you do again?"
Advertisement
My father nodded once and pursed his lips in that way that meant he was cataloging information, filing it away for later judgment.
But this wasn't your usual slightly tense introductory dinner.
See, Thomas and I were in our mid-thirties.
He'd been married before, and he had a six-year-old son, Caleb.
Dad didn't like that.
This wasn't your usual slightly tense introductory dinner.
Advertisement
Caleb sat beside Thomas, legs swinging slightly under the chair, eyes moving between the adults like he was watching a tennis match.
He didn't speak unless spoken to. He rarely did around new people.
The silence stretched.
I reached for my water glass just to have something to do with my hands.
The movement caught my father's attention. His gaze fixed on me.
He didn't speak unless spoken to.
Advertisement
"So…" my father glanced between Caleb and me. "He's very quiet."
"He likes to listen. He's the quiet, observant type."
My father hummed, unconvinced.
For complete cooking steps, go to the next page or click the Open button (>), and don't forget to SHARE with your Facebook friends
