My father stood up at the lake house dinner and raised his glass in fr…

it without wiping their feet.

Room if someone nice comes.

I thought of Aunt Renata in her corner booth. Claire’s small heart text. Becca’s photographs sent without words, not enough but maybe not nothing. My father saying my name once at dinner when I was not there to hear it. My mother’s silence, which had begun to feel less like punishment and more continue reading …