Mom narrowed her eyes.
“You look tired around the soul.”
“That is not a medical measurement.”
“I’m your mother. I have broader diagnostic authority.”
Dad opened the refrigerator.
“Wine?”
“Yes.”
“Red or white?”
“Whatever is open.”
He looked offended.
“We have standards.”
“You drank boxed wine until I went to college.”
“It was economical.”
“It had a plastic faucet.”
“Efficient packaging.”
He selected a bottle and began opening it with the concentration of a bomb technician.
Mom pointed to a chair.
“Sit.”
“I’ve been sitting for six hours.”
“Sit somewhere I can look at you.”
I obeyed.
She placed salad in front of me without asking whether I wanted salad.
“How is Hank?” she asked.
“Fine.”
“And Captain Pancake?”
“Financially successful.”
Dad looked up from the corkscrew.
“The dog has income?”
“People are paying to take pictures with him.”
“He needs a separate account.”
