People sometimes assumed I was his daughter.
Nathan always answered before I could.
Still, after years of caring for my mother and being needed by everyone, I liked being chosen.
“She is.”
Every time he said it, warmth moved through me, followed by guilt.
I knew we were pretending.
Still, after years of caring for my mother and being needed by everyone, I liked being chosen.
Nathan weakened quickly.
“Was I convincing?”
During my final visit, he could barely keep his eyes open.
“Was I convincing?” he asked.
“As a father?”
“As someone worth remembering.”
I held his hand.
At his funeral, I recognized hospice workers, the diner manager, and a silver-haired waitress.
“You were difficult.”
“That sounds honest.”
“And I will remember you.”
He died the following morning.
At his funeral, I recognized hospice workers, the diner manager, and a silver-haired waitress.
He watched me place a flower on Nathan’s casket.
