“It is,” I admitted.

My mom smiled. “I can remember your first day of school. You were so excited but after I walked you to the classroom, I remember going back to my car and crying.”

“Why were you crying?”

“Because it meant you were growing up. And you were so different than Marge. You were always so much more sensitive than she was. I worried about you.”

I wasn’t sure I was happy about being described as more sensitive than my sister but I suspected my mom probably wasn’t entirely wrong about this.

“It turned out okay. You know I always liked school. I just hope London will, too. We went to the open house and she met her teacher. That seemed to go okay.”

“She’ll be fine. She’s smart and mature and really sweet. Of course, I’m biased.”

“That’s a good thing.”

“I’m just glad that you’re not angry with me.”

“Why would I be angry with you?”

“Because I wasn’t able to watch London whenever you needed it.”

“You were right,” I said. “It wasn’t your responsibility. But let’s just say I developed a whole new level of respect for single mothers.”

“It’s been good for London, too. She’s changed a lot this summer.”

“You think so?”

“Of course she has. You’re just too close to see it.”

“How has she changed?”

“The way she talks about you, for starters. And how much she talks about you.”

“She talks about me?”

“Lately, she talks about you all the time. It’s, ‘Me and Daddy went bike riding,’ or ‘Daddy played Barbies with me,’ or ‘Daddy took me to the park.’ She never used to do that.”

“That’s pretty much been my life these days.”

“It’s been good for you, too. I’ve always thought that your dad could have benefited from knowing how the other half lives.”

“But then he wouldn’t be the big, gruff guy that Marge and I came to fear.”

“Hush,” she says. “You know he loves you both.”

“I know,” I said. “As long as I don’t talk to him too much while the ball game’s on. Of course, Marge and London can talk the whole time and there’s no problem.”

“That’s because Marge knows the game better than you do, and London will get up from his lap and bring him a beer. Why don’t you try that?”

“I’m too big to sit in his lap.”

“You’re such a comedian today. There are a couple of beers in the fridge. Why don’t you grab two, and see what happens. He likes visiting with you.”

“I know exactly what’s going to happen.”

“Oh, don’t let him scare you. Just remember – he can sense your fear.”

I laughed as I walked to the fridge, certain that I had the best mom in the world.

“How are you, Dad?”

I held an open bottle of beer toward him. “For you,” I said. Fortunately, I’d timed it perfectly with a commercial, which he’d already muted.

“What are you doing?”

“I brought you a beer.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because I thought you might want one?”

“You’re not going to ask if you can borrow some money, are you?”

“No.”

“Good. Because the answer’s no. It’s not my fault you quit your job.”

My father, the King of Blunt. I took a seat on the couch beside him.

“How’s the game going?’

“Braves are losing.”

I brought my hands together, wondering what to say next. “How are things, Dad? Plumbing business going okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

I don’t know, I thought. Because you make me nervous sometimes? I took a drink of my beer. “I told you I landed my first client, right?”

“Yep. The attorney. Italian guy.”

“I’ll be filming a couple of commercials next week. I also have to meet with some child actors, so I can film a third commercial, too.”

“I don’t like lawyer commercials.”

“You don’t like any commercials, Dad,” I said. “That’s why you mute them.”

He nodded in agreement while the silence grew between us, the only sound my mother’s humming from the kitchen. He scratched at a corner of the label from the bottle, figuring it was probably polite to ask a question. “How’s Vivian?”

“She’s doing well,” I said.

“Good,” he said. At that point, the game came back on and my dad reached for the remote control. The mute went off and a peek at the box score showed that the Braves were down by three runs with four innings left to go.

“We should head to a Braves game one day. You and I.”

He scowled at me. “Are you gonna keep talking all day, or will you let me enjoy the game in peace?”

“I think you’ve scared him, Dad,” Marge said, collapsing on the couch beside my dad. She and Liz had returned from their walk.

“What are you talking about?”

Marge pointed toward me. “He’s perched over there like he’s afraid to move a muscle.”

My dad shrugged. “He was talking and talking, like one of them windup dolls.”