“He’ll be down soon.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Everything is okay,” she said, but I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or to herself.
“I got the tea you wanted. Should I make a pot?”
Making tea seemed to be the only thing I was good for in a crisis.
“Sure.”
After about ten minutes, I finally heard the shuffling of footsteps on the stairs.
Stephen Kellner never shuffled.
I nearly knocked my chair over as I ran into the living room.
“Hey, son.” Dad pulled me into a hug as soon as I was within range.
I wrapped my arms around him and rested my head on his shoulder.
There was this thing, though. His shoulder felt bonier. Like he’d lost some weight or something.
For as long as I could remember, Stephen Kellner had been the same weight and size.
I kind of hated that about him. My own weight seemed to be in a state of constant flux, always on the heavy side.
Dad’s beard had grown out even more. It was properly brown, much darker than his head hair, which looked dark gold now that it was long and shaggy enough to brush the tips of his ears.
Whenever I hugged my dad before, I always felt like he was holding me up.
But this time, I was holding him up.
“Dad?” My question was muffled against his shirt.
He brought his hand up to rub the back of my neck and kind of rock me back and forth.
“I’m glad you’re home.”
“Me too.”
I studied Dad as he drank his tea. Really studied him. The dark circles under his eyes. The slump in his shoulders.
“It’s getting worse. Isn’t it?” I asked.
He sighed and nodded.
“It’s just hard. Being away from you and your sister and your mom.”
“You don’t have to keep doing that,” I said. “You can come home.”
“I can’t. We need the money, son.”
“I’m sending out applications. And I’ve got money in my savings. Let me help.”
“No. It’s our job—me and your mom—to take care of you and Laleh. Not the other way around.”
“But...”
