While I stirred my little pot of soup, Dad stood at the sink, doing the dishes.
“I can do those,” I said. “I’m making more anyway.”
“No, it’s okay. I should have done them during the day. Just didn’t get around to it.”
Dad huffed and reached into the sudsy water to pull out a mug.
Stephen Kellner always liked to fill one side of the sink with sudsy water and soak the dishes in it. I wasn’t a fan of that method, because I hated reaching into dirty, soapy water and not knowing what I was going to find.
But Grandma and Oma did dishes the same way, so it must have been genetic.
Grandma and Oma also used one of those wand things, the kind that you filled with soap that had a sponge on the end, but Mom was adamant that those didn’t get the corners clean, so she bought us regular washcloths instead.
Shirin Kellner had strong opinions about dish-washing, opinions I had apparently inherited from her, since I did the dishes a lot more like her than I did like Dad.
The Level Nine Awkward Silence had followed us from the car to the house, like a shrouded Jem’Hadar warrior lurking in the shadows, observing our weaknesses and waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
All the joy I’d felt from winning our first game had leechedout too, until I was left feeling as prickly and unsettled as the rest of my family.
I cleared my throat. “How was work?”
“Didn’t get much done today,” Dad said. “Had to take care of your sister.”
“Oh.”
“Richard thinks we might have a project lined up in California soon. A community center outside LA.”
“Oh. Cool.”
Richard Newton was my dad’s partner at Kellner & Newton, the architecture firm where he worked.
I guess he kind of owned it.
To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure how his business was structured. I just knew that he didn’t get to work from home as much anymore. That he was always tired, like Mom.
“I’ll be doing a site visit next week. Need anything from Tehrangeles?”
Dad had been traveling a lot more for work too.
“I’m good. Mom will probably have a list, though.”
Dad smirked. “She already gave it to me.”
“Oh. Good.”
I transferred my soup to a bowl. “Want to watch aDS9?”
“Sure. Give me a minute to finish up?”
“I’ll make some tea.”
I filled my electric kettle and set it to 165 degrees. “Want to try something new?”
“What is it?”
“Kabusecha. Mr. Edwards gave it to me.”
“Tell me about it.”
