The first time Dad visited my apartment, a pan sat in the sink.
He looked at it.
Then at me.
I saw the question.
He did not ask.
Good.
Theo slept against my chest.
Dad sat.
I said:
“The pan has been there since breakfast.”
“I see.”
“You want to wash it?”
His face changed.
“I have people.”
I laughed.
“Exactly.”
He washed it.
Badly.
Soap everywhere.
I took a photograph.
He threatened to disinherit me.
Normal family life returned in strange forms.
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