SHORT STORY | FAMILY | FATHERS
It is one of those silvery winter nights. It’s snowy, it’s cold, just Dad and me — nothing unusual there. My father is always on time, but there are some days when he arrives later than usual. It’s on those days that you can see dried sweat stains on his button-down shirt. He fussily unknots his tie and takes off his suit jacket. Sure enough he’s has the usual late-day markings on his white dress shirt. He must have been sweating profusely today.
“Hello, my girl,” he greets me.
I have dinner ready for us. Nothing spectacular as I can only cook four meals. He never complains though. Dad never complains about life in general. He’s not the giddy or playful type; he’s more somber, but negative thoughts don’t escape his lips. I think he stores it up inside just for him to bear.
Our kitchen is completely lined with long windows. This makes night snow truly magical. Delicate bright snowflakes falling against a black sky make you forget everything. Heavy hearts lighten and responsibilities are momentarily forgotten. A growling stomach rouses me. I see Dad observing me lovingly out of the corner of my eye. He never loses sight of me. Is he worried, sad, or just deep in thought again?
He interrupts my thoughts. “Have you been outside since school ended?”
