I miss my father.
He is even more absent than before. He sits behind the kitchen counter, head bent, a word puzzle before him. He says nothing. He closes his eyes sometimes and I smooth his gray hair.
“Don’t you want to talk Daddy?”
“My mouth will hurt,” he says.
First I assume he is joking. He often cracks jokes; it’s the way he communicates to his daughter. But, this time he doesn’t smile. He doesn’t even look up. And I feel pathetic. I’ve left and he doesn’t want me back.