I got there.
The day my dad came over, I cleaned like I was being graded. I scrubbed the sink until it squeaked. I wiped baseboards. I vacuumed under the couch even though no one but me would ever look there. I cooked—marinated chicken, chopped potatoes, arranged store-bought brownies on a plate like I’d made them.
When his car pulled into the driveway,continue reading …
