RYDER “Dad, what are you doing?” I call out, Saturday morning as I am about to head to work. My dad doesn’t even look up from where he is standing, pouring himself coffee like he hadn’t just been warned to avoid it a week ago. “Pouring myself breakfast,” he mutters. “Dad,” I sigh, stepping back inside. “Caffeine is not breakfast and you know you can’t do that.” That gets his attention. He turns, fixing me with a look. “Ryder, don’t dad me. I’m the parent, remember?” “Then act like it,” I fire right back. “Take care of yourself for once so I don’t have to.” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I will fix myself something healthy and I will take my meds. Happy now?” I hold his gaze for a second, making sure he means it. Then I nod once. “I will be when you actually do it.” “Fine” he mutters, pouring the coffee in the sink. Then, he scrutinizes me. “Are you going on a date or something?” “Why?” “Nothing about your outfit screams diner grease and milkshakes.” I shrug, tryin
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