“Well, you should,” he says.
He lets her go and steps back. Finally letting her breathe.
I lean against the doorframe, watching them.
Just a father and his little girl.
Eventually, he turns his attention to me. “Missed you too, boy.” He claps a heavy hand on my shoulder.
“Brought supper,” I say, lifting the bag.
“Good. I’m getting tired of microwave dinners.”
I set the food on the coffee table and grab the TV trays.
The house smells like old wood and coffee and something faintly sweet I can’t quite place.
My mother pauses in the doorway of the dining room.
Her eyes drift slowly around the room.
The bed.
The dresser.
The old curtains my grandmother sewed decades ago.
“We moved Granddad down here,” I tell her. “It’ll be easier for him after his surgery.”
“Makes sense,” she murmurs.
Josiah snorts. “It don’t. But this one wasn’t gonna shut up till I did.”
We settle in the living room and set the food out on the trays.
Within minutes, the three of us are digging in to our full plates of comfort food.
My grandfather eats like he hasn’t seen a decent meal in days, and he probably hasn’t.
“So,” I say between bites, “did the plumber make it out yesterday?”
Josiah nods, chewing slowly. “They did.”
“And?”
“They replaced the pipes in the kitchen and the laundry room.”
I whistle softly. “That’s more than I expected.”
“Me too.” He shrugs. “Turns out, the old ones were damn near rusted through.”
“How long were they here?”
“Nearly all day.”
I nod. “Well, at least it’s done.”
“Cost a small fortune.”
