He doesn't believe me. But at least he has the decency not to dwell on it any longer. "How's your handicap?" I ask.
After all, golfing is his only obsession besides his law firm, which should definitely not become a topic of conversation between us.
"It's at -31.5." With a broad smile on his face, he adjusts his tie.
Of course, he's improved again. Nothing else would be acceptable to him. I nod approvingly. "Congratulations."
The corners of his mouth lift into a satisfied smirk. I mimic him because I haven't the slightest idea what else we could talk about. Apparently, he doesn't either. He starts devouring his dessert while I just look at mine. The vibrations in my muscles earlier were a warning I must take seriously. There's too much risk of my hand shaking when I try to eat something from the dessert. I watch as the decorative cherry on top of my ice cream slowly loses its grip and eventually lands on the tablecloth.
"Why aren't you eating?" my father suddenly asks.
"No appetite." The excuse works quite well. "The flu, you know," I add.
Again, he scrutinizes me intently. "I see."
That's all he says, and actually, it's for the best. We've maintained this kind of ceasefire between us for years. One spark could end it, and we both know that. That's why we're careful not to ignite it.
I'm sure everyone involved is tired. We don't want to continue our old battle. But we can't put down our weapons either.
That's how it will likely remain.
Until I win the music prize.
Because that's the only thing that can make us tear down the wall between us so we can finally move closer to each other.
