Yours, Stepdad
faster than his stillness suggests, faster than his careful hands, the body telling the truth the composed exterior is still trying to manage.
"Hey," I say quietly.
He looks at me.
"I know," I say.
Not I love you back. Not yet.. that belongs to a different moment, a cleaner one, one that does not have a folder on a kitchen counter between us. But I know. I know what he said is true. I know the piano room and the crackers and his father and the window were real. I know both things at once and I am here, choosing to be here for this last hour, and I need him to understand that is not nothing.
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